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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