Sweet Sunday: A Kiss at Midnight -- #SweetSunday #Romance #NewYearsEve #Kiss

Some of you may have wondered if I can write anything that doesn’t include full-out, graphic sex. So for today, instead of “Sizzling Sunday”, I’ve got a “Sweet Sunday” vignette for you— a brief taste of romance that promises happily ever after.

Meanwhile, I want to wish every one who reads this the very best of everything in the upcoming year: love, laughter, good health and prosperity. Blessings to you all!

A Kiss at Midnight

It wasn't deliberate, or what she'd expected.

Laura had actually planned to leave around eleven. She had to work tomorrow; hospitals didn't close for New Year's Day. The one glass of wine she allowed herself was long gone. She was exhausted from last night's shift. Her jaw ached from the constant smiling. She really didn't want to hear any more about Jill's and Howie's upcoming trip to Jamaica, or Martha's promotion, or Reese's engagement. All that Laura had to look forward to was curling up in the new quilt Mom has sent for Christmas, with a paperback mystery and her plump tabby Morris for company.

She'd made moves toward the bedroom where the coats were piled, but Gretch had intercepted her and begged her to stay. Gretchen was her best friend. Laura felt guilty refusing. She accepted a plastic glass of champagne and stood by the window, watching the drifting snow. Most of Gretchen's guests huddled around the TV, counting down with the broadcaster in Times Square.

Huge flakes swirled lazily like feathers from giant down pillow. She hoped that she'd be able to get a cab. Without thinking, she sipped at the effervescent liquid in her hand. It was chill and sweet on her tongue.

"Five. Four. Three. Two. One..." came the chant from the rest of the crowd. Laura barely heard them.

She felt his presence behind her an instant before he laid a firm hand on her shoulder and turned her around. She had a confused impression of worn plaid flannel and tousled brown hair as he gathered her to his chest and brought his face to hers.

His mouth was silky and strong and tasted like champagne. His brazen tongue played along the seam of her closed lips, teasing her into opening. A rush of heat flooded her when he entered, turning her earlobes and her nipples to burning coals. The air seemed to leave her lungs, sucked out by his energetic kiss. She staggered against him, suddenly dizzy. He held her closer, one bold hand cupping her buttocks while the other supported her under her arms.

He delved deeper, fanning the flames that whipped through her body. Between her legs, under her tights, she was melting. His scent rose around her, cherry pipe tobacco and old-fashioned lavender cologne. She ventured a tentative hand up his back and felt solid muscle move beneath his shirt. His fingertips grazed the side of her breast. A spark shot from her nipples down to her sex. She gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the small sound, kissing her harder.

Laura lost herself in the velvet darkness behind her closed eyelids. She didn't want to break the spell. She relaxed into his arms, letting him explore her body as though they were completely alone. Rigidness pressed against her belly, kindling a drunken sense of triumph. He was as aroused as she was.

The kiss lasted for hours. One moment he nibbled delicately as her lips. The next, he forced her wide and plundered her mouth, grinding his thigh against her crotch all the while. Champagne bubbles had found their way into her blood. She felt bouyant, giggly, light as air.

Finally he released her. "Happy New Year," the stranger murmured into her ear, nuzzling her throat wetly. Laura gazed up at dark eyes brimming with laughter and intelligence. She realized that she was trembling.

"Do I know you?" His face was vaguely familiar, but the rich baritone voice was completely new.

"You do now," he said with a grin. He raised his champagne glass to her in a silent toast, then took a sip. "I'm Dan. Gretchen's brother. And you're Laura, right?"

"Um--right." Laura felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Did Gretchen put you up to this?"

She forced herself to move away from him, even though what she really wanted was to throw herself back into his arms.

"Put me up to what?" Dan raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. "It's midnight on New Year's. You're supposed to kiss the person standing next to you."

Laura looked around. Sure enough, lots of couples were locked in heated embraces. She would have sworn that Dan's kiss had taken hours, but clearly it was only moments after midnight.

"Hm--well--thank you." Her still-taut nipples pressed against her sweater. She was sure that Dan could see them. She took another step backward and was acutely aware of how damp her panties had become. "I've got to go home now. Happy New Year."

"Wait!" He grabbed her hand. His strength was obvious. Laura wished she could melt into the floor.

"Don't go yet. It's early." He searched her face and she saw doubt in his eyes for the first time. "Unless there's someone waiting for you...someone else...a lover..."

Laura's resistance fluttered away like the snowflakes outside. "No, there's no one waiting for me--except my cat. I don't have a lover."

Dan's relief was obvious. He circled her waist and pulled her against him. "Now you do."

His lips claimed hers once more. Laura knew it was going to be a good year.

Sunday Snog 243: Mastering Maya (#bdsm #switch #kiss)

Happy Sunday! I’m back with another sexy Sunday Snog, this time from my contemporary BDSM erotic romance Mastering Maya.

Mistress Maya bears the nickname "The Ice Queen". Her precision in administering discipline, her skill in evoking a submissive's devotion, and her unshakable self-control are legendary in the small but active Boston kink community.

From the moment newcomer Dom Shark sees Maya flogging a sub at Club Inferno, he's obsessed with her beauty and power. He'd determined to break through her defenses and bring her the same release she grants to the lucky slaves she tops. When Maya dismisses Shark as young and inexperienced, he offers her a challenge: a night together, during which he'll show her what it means to be mastered. If he fails to bring her to new heights of sensation, he agrees to become her slave.

What begins as a test of wills evolves into something deeper and more intense. As the younger man uses his insight and skill to coax Maya into submission, he comes to understand the wounded spirit hiding behind her mask of control. Can he make Maya trust him enough to surrender? Or will the flawless, untouchable dominatrix take possession of his body as well as his heart?

When you’re done savoring my snog, click over to Victoria’s SundaySnog Central for more delicious kisses!

Maya led the way to her parlour, with her visitor trailing behind. His eyes wandered down her back, over the swell of her buttocks—she felt the weight of his gaze, though he never touched her. Lubrication welled from her pussy and trickled down the insides of her thighs. She wore nothing under the caftan, as he had instructed.

“Stop.” She halted as suddenly as if he’d tugged on a leash. Behind her, he gathered her heavy tresses in one hand, drawing them aside to bare her neck. Chill air touched the normally protected skin, then warmth and wetness. The kiss he planted at her nape sent shivers of pleasure racing to her pussy. His other hand gripped her upper arm—the strength of that grip making her gasp—while he licked along the curve running from her hairline to her shoulder. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in the sensation of liquid heat.

He pushed her loose garment off her shoulder. Was he starting so soon? Then she yelped as he sank his teeth into her deltoid.

“What the fuck?” She whirled to face him. “That hurt!”

“BDSM often involves some pain.” His mildness infuriated her. “But, of course, you know that. You agreed I could do as I wish, didn’t you?”

The bite throbbed in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Her clit seemed to pulse in time. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry, you startled me.” In her flats, she was six inches shorter than he. She gazed up at his face, trying to read him. The dangerous gleam she saw in his eyes sent new shivers dancing through her.

“And have you changed your mind?”

“Um—uh, no.”

“No…?” He waited, clearly expectant, leaving her momentarily disoriented.

“No, I haven’t changed my mind.” She tried to move into the parlour, but he held her fast.

“No, what?”

“Huh? What?” Light dawned. He was waiting for her to acknowledge his dominance. Could she do it? It had been so very long. She could barely choke out the words.

“No, Sir.”

A torrent of long-denied emotion came rushing back—the delicious helplessness that came with accepting a Master. She fought against the flood, but it was too powerful, too deep. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears. He mustn’t see—mustn’t know how much that one word had cost her.

He cupped her cheek with his palm. “Are you all right, Maya? Do you want to call this off?”

“No, no, I’m sorry… It’s just…”

He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “It’s okay. I understand, pet.”

Pet? Who did he think he was? He didn’t know her! She tried to focus her anger, to generate some cutting retort, but now his mouth claimed hers, and it was so marvellous she couldn’t muster the energy to fight.

Stephen sealed his firm, mobile lips to hers. His tongue poked and probed, testing her willingness to fulfil her promise of submission. She opened to his determined assault, not because she’d agreed to but because she wanted more of his sweet heat. He tasted like fresh mint, clean and sharp. His aftershave—the same scent she’d noticed in the café—somehow reminded her of summer afternoons, sun-baked grass with a hint of honey.

The kiss deepened. He snaked his arms around her, tight as the bonds he’d promised and impossibly strong. He gripped her ass, digging his fingers through the velvet and forcing her body against his. His cock was a lump of stone pressing into her belly. A hungry gulf ached between her thighs, dripping with need. The satin of his tuxedo jacket was smooth and cool under her palms as she held on to him for dear life.

He wasn’t rough, brutal or even demanding, but the ravishing kiss made his point clear. He was the one in charge.

When he finally released her, Maya found herself panting for breath. He stepped away from her and she almost cried out at the vanishing warmth. Pull yourself together, she scolded herself. Don’t make it so easy for him.

Gazillionaire Cover Reveal and Giveaway (Sunday Snog #208)

Happy Sunday!

I’ve been busy working on marketing plans for The Gazillionaire and the Virgin. It will be out in ebook form on the 29^th of January, and available in print about two weeks later. I’m planning a release blitz and a blog tour, which means (of course) lots of prizes.

And I thought I’d kick things off today with my cover reveal. This is another cover by the fabulous Willsin Rowe. What do you think?

Personally, I love it! And to celebrate, I’m giving away a $5 bookstore gift certificate. Just leave me a comment that includes your email address, and I’ll throw your name into the metaphorical hat.

And when you’re done here, hop over to Victoria Blisse’s Sunday Snog page for more sexy kisses!

****

As I hang up and pull into my parking space, I continue to watch Rachel, behind me. She steers her banker-mobile into a visitor’s slot across the road, steps out, closes the door gently and engages the alarm. The afternoon sun turns her hair into a coppery halo. Her beige slacks are just tight enough to remind me of her curves. Her purple silk blouse flows loosely over the swell of her breasts. I wonder what, if anything, she’s wearing underneath. My cock is hard almost before I’m conscious of the thought.

God, she’s glorious.

She pauses, as if she realizes I’m admiring her and wants to prolong the moment. Then she strides across the street to my car and peers in the window. I catch a whiff of her, jasmine laced with damp pussy. The lump in my jeans hardens further.

“Everything all right, Theo?” There’s real concern in her voice. She cares for you.

“Fine, fine.” With some difficulty due to my turgid state, I extricate myself from the vehicle. Rachel’s eyes flick to my groin, then back to my face. She gives me a playful grin. Something inside me snaps. All at once I don’t want to play.

I seize her, drag her body to mine and grind my erection against her pubis. My fingers tangled in her wild curls, I bear down on her mouth, forcing her lips open, driving my tongue inside. I pour all my love, uncertainty and frustration into that furious kiss.

She melts in my arms, opens to my assault and lets me take what I crave from her. Her surrender inflames me further. I flip her so that her back is against the car and force my thigh into the gap between hers, pressing upward until she’s on tiptoe. Her juices soak through her clothing to wet mine. I tug at her hair and bite her lips, just to hear her whimper. She doesn’t push me away, though.

Her sweet, hot mouth clings to mine. Her nipples under the silk are round and hard as marbles. No bra, and no panties either, I’m willing to bet. She’s close to naked, and totally drenched, trembling on the edge of climax. All because of me.

A crazed sense of triumph sweeps through me. She’s mine—mine! I can do whatever I like to her. I yank her head back so I can gaze at her face. She gives a little yelp of pain—her eyes are luminous with gathering tears—but still she doesn’t object. She moans, a bitch in heat. I could rip off those designer duds and fuck her right here, under the eyes of my neighbors.

Something shifts between us. I read something new in her gaze, a raw yearning that goes beyond lust. “Theo,” she murmurs, tears spilling down her cheeks, until our kisses taste like the sea. “Oh, my darling Theo…”

I’m suddenly ashamed of my roughness. I release my hold on her hair to find red-gold strands encircling my fingers, pulled out by the roots. Her mouth looks bruised, with a smear of blood at one corner. Greasy smudges stain her crisp linen trousers. Her blouse gapes, two buttons torn off in my frenzy.

But she’s smiling, serene, despite the damage.

“I’m sorry, Rachel—I didn’t mean…”

“A master should never apologize.”

New desire shudders through me at the word she’s chosen.

****

Don’t forget to leave a comment!

Sunday Snog #173: Rajasthani Moon

My kiss today comes from Rajasthani Moon, my multi-genre steampunk opus. I happened on the passage while I was trying to decide what to read at the Smut By The Sea event in two weeks.

In case you’ve forgotten the plot line of novel, 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?

When you’re done with my snog, head back to Victoria’s place for more Sunday kisses!

* * * *

One day before the full moon, Amir announced the training was complete. “I’ve done what I can,” he told her, as he helped her rise from the bench. “Now it’s up to you and Pratan to bring the ritual to completion.”

Still quivering from her latest orgasm, Cecily leaned on her companion’s arm. “When will he return from the temple?”

“Tomorrow morning, I believe, though I have not heard from him in several days. I’ve consulted the astronomical charts, by the way. Moonrise will occur around eight p.m. If we leave for the mountain as the sun is setting, we should arrive in plenty of time.”

“We? You plan to accompany us?”

“Who else will restrain the beast until the appropriate moment? Who will subdue him, if he becomes overly violent?”

Cecily had to admit this made sense. Still, despite the risks, she would have preferred to confront and couple with Pratan alone. She released a sigh that did not assuage the heaviness in her chest.

Amir swung her around to face him. “Cecily—pet—don’t worry. I’ll take care of you both.” To her astonishment, he gathered her into his arms and nuzzled her hair. “I’ve become quite fond of you,” he murmured. “And I deeply appreciate what you’re doing for Pratan, regardless of your motivations.”

“Amir—Your Highness…” Cecily struggled to extricate herself from the Rajah’s embrace. “I don’t think…”

“Don’t think,” he ordered, and took possession of her mouth with the same self-confident power with which he did everything else.

Cecily relaxed into the kiss. Given his lewd acquaintance with her most intimate parts, resistance seemed silly. In truth, she had to admit to herself that he felt absolutely delicious. His lips moulded to hers while his tongue slipped into her mouth with an authority that did not require force but brooked no refusal. He tasted of masala tea, cinnamon and cloves, with a tart undercurrent that might be lime. Surrender was sweet. His muscles shifted as he encircled her with his arms and drew her closer, mashing her full breasts against the rough cotton of his kurta.

The two climaxes she’d experienced during their ‘exercise’ did not stop her pussy from swelling and tingling anew, especially when he insinuated a finger between her rear cheeks and stroked her recently distended hole. “Please,” she moaned into his mouth, not really wanting more stimulation, but helpless to resist. Already her body was ramping towards orgasm, so conditioned had she become to that state in Amir’s presence.

She was grateful when he released her, rather than pressing his advantage to its ultimate conclusion. She wasn’t sure she could bear another climax.

Sunday Snog #167: The Eyes of Bast

It’s Sunday Snog time once more. As you might expect, I’ve got a sensational, sensual kiss from my new release The Eyes of Bast.

When you’re done with my snog, head back to Victoria’s place for more amazing kisses from your favorite authors.

Before I could stop him, he was standing in front of me, looming over me. I had no sense of threat, though. I caught the heady scent of male sweat, woven with the sharpness of crushed vegetation. I felt the warmth radiating from his body. I felt his power, sheathed, hidden, bubbling beneath the surface.

“You’re blocking the door, Shaina. You’ll have to move if you want me to go.”

Wordless, lost in the storm of emotion swirling through me, I stepped aside. He flipped open the deadbolt.

“Goodbye, beautiful one.”

“No…”

I didn’t intend to speak. The one-word plea emerged without any conscious decision. I reached for him, grasping his arm to hold him back. Some part of me knew that I shouldn’t, couldn’t allow him to leave.

Electricity shot through my arm, sizzled down my spine and ignited in my sex. I gasped.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” With one finger, he tipped my face toward his. His eyes were emeralds set in ebony. They were so familiar—I knew this stranger—recognized him at some fundamental level below rational thought.

Heat hummed through me, rippling out from that tiny spot on my chin where our skin met. I was acutely aware of my bare flesh under the thin cotton, my nipples gathered into tight, throbbing knots, my thighs damp with fluid leaking from my cleft.

I held his gaze, allowing him to see the raw need he inspired. I was totally naked, open, silently inviting him to take me.

He bent to me. His breath warmed my cheek as I held my own in anticipation. Then his lips met mine and reality exploded into a riot of lush sensation. Colors flared around us, scarlet, vermillion, grass-green, velvety jet. A thousand scents teased my nostrils—the sweetness of fallen blossoms and ripe earth, summer-baked hay and rust-tinged water running over smooth stone. Sparks danced across my skin and burrowed beneath, racing through my blood to swell and soak me.

Just the chaste press of his closed lips had this effect. When he opened to slide his tongue into my mouth, a fever swept over me. I grabbed him, wrapping my arms around his back, plastering my body against his, mashing my hungry breasts against his solid chest. I wanted total contact. The parts of me that weren’t touching him felt lost, abandoned. A rigid bulk prodded my belly. I squirmed against him, thrilled by the promise of that hardness.

His tongue flicked across mine, rougher than I’d expected. He devoured me as though he was starved, gnawing on my lips then plunging deep inside. I felt every move in my pussy, as if that agile tongue rasped over my pulsing clit instead of my palate. My nipples were so tight they hurt. I ground my pubis against him, already trembling on the edge of orgasm.