Will Mr. Sands Meet Magda Gardener?

Mr. Sands may well be getting a visit from Magda Gardener in the future. She, along with one of my faithful readers (you know who you are 😉 ) has been scheming behind my back to make this visit happen. Magda has always liked to badger me and tease me when I’m jet lagged. She loves catching me between time zones. When I’m not really any place or any time, when I’m in a plane for hours, or when I’m a long way form home.

After spending two glorious days walking and exploring the John Day Fossil Beds, how could I not be inspired? Not only was I in a different timezone, but , while walking in the glorious Blue Basin, I was in a different millennia. (More about that later) As promised, from the archives, I’m sharing with you the second part of The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands  — a two-part story inspired in part from entering the twilight zone at Seattle International Airport last year at this time and wondering if I’d ever get out again. As I mentioned, Magda has her eye on Mr. Sands, so who knows how that will end. In the meantime, enjoy part 2.

 

 

The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands Pt 2

Warning: Adult Content!

It was only as he turned his attention on me, lying there writhing in my first class seat/bed that I realized I was already anticipating his kiss, that my mouth tingled with desire, that my tongue darted over my lips making them moist, making them ready. I was more than anticipating, actually. I was desperate for his kiss. For a long time he stood watching me, and it felt as though there was no one else on the plane but the two of us. For only a second I closed my eyes, as though I could bask in his bright blue gaze, which felt like the only light in the plane, exuding a warmth that made me realize I’d never been warm until he looked at me that way. In the next instant, I felt chilled as though I might never be warm again, but it pasted almost before I was certain I felt it, and then his breath, sweet like summer over meadow grass, brushed my face, as I parted my lips in anticipation. “Not yet,” he whispered, against my ear. “We have time and I want to savour you, my darling.” His accent, the rhythm of his words was strange – not foreign, but somehow out of time.

And then I felt his teeth against my neck. Christ! Was the man a vampire? In my strange dream state, nothing really seemed impossible. But it was just a nibble, and then another and another raising a trail of goose bumps along my nape and down over my collarbone to the tops of my breasts. It was the chill of the cabin air that drew my attention to the fact I had unbuttoned my blouse and shoved my bra down to expose myself for him. I had no memory of undressing, nor of the fact that I was stroking and pinching my nipples to painful peaks and making desperate mewling sounds deep in my throat. “Please,” I whispered softly. “Please take me like you did them.”

“Oh no, my darling, not like them. I shall not take you like them, for you’re nothing like they are.” He drew my hands to his lips and kissed them in turn, then guided one to the bulge in his trousers. “I’ve only made them sleep. This I have saved for you and you alone, and it’s only fitting since you made me this way. Then he slid the blanket off me and, I couldn’t help it, I shifted my hips and let my legs fell open beneath my skirt.

“You’re ready for me, my darling. I knew that you would be, even as I saw you in queue at the check-in desk. You were like a beacon calling me to you. I knew then that I had to have you. He worried my skirt up with a large warm palm taking his time to stroke the outsides of my thighs and then fondling and insinuating his way in to the soft tender flesh between all the while I wriggled and squirmed anxious for his touch. When he’d scrunched the skirt was up high enough to reveal my panties, he planted a kiss on my still clothed pubic bone, the humid heat of his breath making me arch up to him. Then he sat back on his knees on the floor next to me. “Take them off, my beautiful girl. Take your panties off for me. I want to look at you, before I take you.”

When I was free of them, he opened my legs wide and kissed up the insides of my thighs in turn. “The smell of you is ambrosia to me,” he said, teasing me open and stroking me with two slender fingers until I felt as though I would crawl out of my skin if he didn’t take me. “Believe me, my darling, I need you as badly as you need me,” he said. Other than the soft whisper of the plane in flight, and our own desperate breathing, the cabin was filled with the sounds of sleep. The zip of his fly into the quiet night sounds made me jump and catch my breath, and then he kneed my legs open, grasped my buttocks and pulled me onto him with a harsh grunt. There was pain, more paint than I anticipated, knowing how ready I was to accommodate him, and I cried out, like I’d done the first time I’d had sex. That’s almost how it felt, like the first time, tight, virginal, a yielding grudgingly to his fullness, wanting it, wanting all of what he offered, and yet somehow fearing it at the same time.

For a moment he held still on top of me struggling to control himself, speaking soothingly, cupping my cheek as he did so. “There, there. It’ll be all right. The pain will pass quickly. It’s just in the beginning it hurts because it’s so new to you, but then comes the taking and with the taking comes the pleasure, and you’ll not be left wanting.” After a moment, when I could hold still no longer, when I needed him to thrust in spite of the pain, he sighed softly and began to undulate — gently at first and then building in intensity as I wrapped my legs around him and held on. “There now. That’s better isn’t it, my lovely. There now. It’ll be good, so good. You’ll see.” He spoke in tight little grunts, and with each thrust it was as though he were filling me still fuller until I could contain it no more and the spasms began, and they didn’t stop, only ebbed and yielded and rose again with his urgency.

It was only then that he kissed me. Long and hard and deep, he kissed me, and he kept kissing me, his tongue dancing with mine, his mouth taking my breath away with each lap and stroke and suckle, with each inhalation of his need until I had none left, until he breathed for me. It was as though he pulled the whole of me into himself. In kissing me, it felt as though he could read me, as though he had made me even more naked that I really was, exposing my inner workings for all the world to see. But there was no one to see but him, and I wanted him to see, I wanted him to see everything. “Almost there now,” he whispered against my mouth, and I could feel his body tensing above mine and the more he tensed, the deeper he kissed me, and the deeper he kissed me the more I opened to him until there was nothing in me that wasn’t revealed to him. When at last he exploded into me, me still orgasming as though I’d break a part, me still unable to draw breath of my own, consciousness slipped away completely, everything slipped away in an instant, and I simply ceased to be.

At the Wetherspoons where Maggie had taken me and bought me breakfast once I was functional again, I finished my coffee and looked up at her. “That’s what I remember. It was then that I woke up with you leaning over me. The blue-eyed man, Mr. Sands, I take it– he was nowhere to be found. If you hadn’t helped me, I don’t think I could have made it off the plane.”

“He’s an incubus,” Maggie said without preamble. Before I could respond, she added quickly. “That particular night flight between JFK and Heathrow is called ‘the Sands flight,’ by all of us who work it regularly.” She blushed hard and looked down at her hands next to her coffee cup. “We’ve all experienced what you have.”

“An incubus.” The words came out like a harsh breath, but they weren’t a question. Whatever he was, I’d known, or suspected in my gut from his first touch that he wasn’t human.

She nodded. “He always shows up in the queue at the luggage check-in desk and upgrades someone to first class – at least he does now. There was a time when he preferred to prowl the main cabin. He takes only one person, but leaves everyone else feeling particularly euphoric, like you do after really good sex followed by a good night’s sleep. The person he takes, however, well we’ve learned over time to watch out for them, to make sure they’re well cared for after. It’s … it’s sort of our job, the crew, I mean. Oh he doesn’t compel us or anything, but, well, we all know what it was like.”

“So why don’t you warn people?” I asked running a finger around the rim of my cup.

“It doesn’t work that way. We don’t usually know who it is, and even if we did, he has ways of keeping us from talking.” She waved her hand as though she were waving away an insect. “Oh, it’s nothing sinister. It’s just that he can make us forget … well just about anything.”

I recalled how he had affected her the past night on the plane when she accidently interrupted him. “So, now what?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I now had to cope somehow with living in a world where incubi were real. I needed to understand.

“That depends on you,” she said, leaning over the table. “Those Mr. Sands has visited can always welcoming him back. Obviously he needs to feed, just like a vampire does and, after the initial taking, you’ll never be so drained again. But he won’t come to you unless he knows he’s welcome and,” she smiled at me, “if you ever take the Sands flight again between JFK and Heathrow, well, he’ll just assume that’s permission to play.”

I felt a shiver crawl down my spine, but what began as a frisson of fear settled below my belly, between my legs and the way I squirmed, the slight acceleration of my breathing — well she caught it and nodded knowing. “He’s terrifying and yet too good to resist, believe me, I understand. And I can’t imagine life without him now. Besides,” she looked around the room as though she feared someone might be listening, then leaned closer, ‘there are other … fringe benefits to letting him in. My sex life is way better, and I’m just … well I just feel better about myself, I don’t know, more self-confident, more capable.” She looked down at her watch. “Look, I have to go. I have another flight in the morning and I need to get some rest. Are you okay now?”

I took a deep breath and thought about if for a moment. “I’m fine, yes. Thank you.” Actually, I felt terrific now, better than I could remember feeling in ages.

“Good. I’ll leave you to finish your coffee and order something else if you’re still hungry. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. Honest.”

As she stood to go, I asked. “What’s his first name?”

“I have no idea. He’s never told us. We call him Mr. Sands because it’s like the whole plane has a visit from the Sandman, only with very pleasant dreams.”

That should have bothered me, I suppose, but it didn’t. I shamelessly ordered round two of breakfast, and when I was too sated to eat another bite, I headed home, anxious to write down my experiences on the Sands Flight. It just felt like something I needed to do. I paid my parking ticket and made my way to the car park feeling as though everyonearound me was looking at me, admiring me somehow. No doubt that was just residual from what had happened to me, but I found I liked that just find. As I stowed my luggage, then settled into the driver’s seat, I caught a glimpse of a tall dark man standing near a black Audi, who seemed to be watching me, and my skin prickled and the muscles below my belly clenched. I was sure it was Mr. Sands. I didn’t have to see him up close and personal to know. I just knew. I smiled to myself. “Hope you enjoyed your dinner,” I said under my breath. “I’m always happy to invite you over.” And I swear to God, the words were barely out of my mouth before I had an orgasm that shook the whole car.

 

Jet Lagged with Mr. Sands Part 1

It’s time for my annual April visit with my sister in the States. As you know, I’m always intrigued by the effects of travelling across multiple timezones in short periods of time, of effectively being “no place and no time” in a plane for hours. I’m here safe and sound at my sister’s but still a bit jet lagged, so I decided to share with you from the archives, The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands  — a two-part story inspired in part from entering the twilight zone at Seattle International Airport last year at this time and wondering if I’d ever get out again.

After the completion of Mr. Sands’ tale, one of my readers told me that to her it felt like there should be more to Mr. Sands’ story. And who knows, maybe there will be. But for now, here is part 1 from the archives with part 2 to follow. Enjoy!

 

 

The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands Pt I

Warning: Adult Content! 

I woke up in the first class cabin sprawled across my upgraded seat. The blonde flight attendant, Maggie was her name, had placed a cool cloth over my forehead, and the other attendants herded the last of the passengers off, looking anxiously over their shoulders at me.

“Did I pass out? What happen?”

“It’s all right,” she said. “You’ve just had a very intimate visit from Mr. Sands, that’s all, but you’ll be fine. In fact you’ll be better than fine in a little while. Here, drink some water, and I’ll help you off the plane and get you something to eat when you’re ready. I promise, I’ll do my best to explain everything.” She held the bottle to my lips.

As I sipped, my strange encounter with Mr. Sands all came back to me with a little clench and tremor of the muscles down deep below my belly.

It hadn’t been exactly like an electrical shock when the man brushed against my arm in the queue at baggage check-in, but what I felt was just as much of a shock to my system. What I felt – and I know this is going to sound insane – but what I felt was an orgasm. It was just a brush – his arm against mine, as the desk agent motioned him past me and his hand settling onto the small of my back to steady me when I nearly lost my balance at the impact of what had been way more physical than if he’d flattened me. He offered me a smile, and a soft-spoken apology that I barely heard over the hammering of my heart and my efforts to get myself under control. I remember thinking I’d never seen eyes so blue on a man with such coal black hair. Strangely enough, he approached the desk with no bags to check, and yet whatever he had to say to the agent must have been important. He had her full attention – in fact she was totally entranced by him, though for his part, he seem distracted. He kept glancing back at me and smiling, as though he knew me, and I kept thinking how arrogant I was to think he was actually looking at me. Whatever it was he wanted, the agent nodded enthusiastically leaning into his personal space so close he could have kissed her if he’d chosen to, and I confess I held my breath thinking that he might, and not sure if I wanted him to or if I wanted to believe that I really was the center of his attention.

After only a minute, he thanked the agent and gave her hand a little pat as he might have done to a favorite pet. He gave me one last glance that I felt way down deep in my center where my insides still squirmed and clenched from his touch, then he turned and walked off toward security.

“You’ve been upgraded to first class, Ms. Dempsey.” There was a blush on the agent’s cheeks, as though the man had done way more than just brush her hand with his, and frankly her struggle to breath and the dewy sheen on her forehead had my imagination running wild before the fabulous upgrade could sink into the brain of someone who has long been resigned to an in-flight experience of traveling cattle car class. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’d just had the same response to the dark man with the blue eyes that I did. As I made my way to security, three attendants fell into step behind me.

“Mr. Sands is on the flight; did you know?” Said the petite blonde, with a short bob, who I later learned was Maggie. Her voice had that breathless fan-girl quiver brought on by the presence of celebrity. I racked my brain trying to think if I knew any famous Mr. Sands. I didn’t, but then I didn’t keep up with pop culture very well.

“Oh God! You’re kidding me,” the male attendant in the middle said. “Are you sure? He hasn’t done JFK to Heathrow in a while. I hate to say it, but I was hoping he’d got bored with us and decided to check out some other night flight.”

“You shouldn’t talk about him like that, Hal,” the blonde replied. “All I know is that Kaitlin said he came to her desk personally, asking for an upgrade.”

“An upgrade? Seriously? Wow! Someone’s gonna get lucky this flight,” said the willowy brunette on the other side.

“Sh!” the man replied. “Don’t be so disrespectful. He’ll know. He always does, and he won’t like it.”

I slowed my pace just enough to let them pass, then fell in behind them intrigued by this Mr. Sands, whoever he was. Apparently he was on my flight.

“Well at least this time there are no newbies on the crew,” The brunette said.

“That’ll make things easier,” Maggie replied. “I hate having to deal with their reactions. Makes it hard on the rest of the crew. Well at least the first timers get a warning now, which is more than I did when it was my turn.”

What the hell, was the man a groper, I wondered?

“They may get a warning, but who the hell would believe it,” Hal said.

I was just about to pluck up my nerve and ask who this Mr. Sands was, when the three squeezed onto a lift and
disappeared in a wave of Japanese tourists while, being slightly claustrophobic, I opted for the next one, which was less crowded. I wasn’t much on celebrity, and whoever this Mr. Sands was, he had nothing to do with me.

In the lap of luxury, I forgot about the mysterious Mr. Sands and enjoyed my meal and the fact that I could stretch out without bumping into anyone. In fact, I had more than just a seat to myself. There were several seats to either side of me empty, and all the other seats were occupied by people who couldn’t wait to settle into a good night’s sleep. I didn’t think I’d sleep at all, and I really didn’t intend to, since I figured I’d never get another chance to enjoy first class. I was wrong though. I was asleep almost before the attendants anxiously cleared the dishes. In fact, they seemed downright skittish, which I thought rather unusual for first class, but then how the hell would I know?

Sometimes you dream strange things when you travel, and sometimes those dreams can seem very real. I dreamed of the blue-eyed man from the check-in queue. He rose up from the seat directly across from mine, one that I was almost certain had been empty, and then he began to walk among the sleepers, touching each of them lovingly as though they

were his children and he’d just gotten them to sleep. His tender ministrations were interrupted by the unexpected appearance of the blonde flight attendant. “You’re here,” she said, and the fan-girl timbre of her voice was replaces with something more along the lines of fear – fear mixed with lust if that were even possible. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” It was then that I was certain I must be dreaming, because he took her face in his hands and kissed her, and oh dear god in heaven, what a kiss it was! Tongue, there was tongue, moving in little darts and licks as he probed and tasted and tested and teased until the woman opened to him and practically melted into his arms. And then it was over, with a deep intake of breath, he released her then settled her back on her feet, and she turned away as though nothing had happened. Then he kissed everyone in first class, one by one with the same deep probing intensity, as though he

sought something out, and they arched up to meet him in the kiss — some moaning softly, a couple of the men even giving that gut-punch of a grunt men do when they ejaculate. But then I was dreaming, wasn’t I? Me, who never had a dream more erotic that finding myself naked in the middle of the supermarket. With each sleeper, he took his time in the kiss, he let them embrace him, let them touch him, let them stroke his hair, and then he took the kiss. That’s what it felt like to me, at least, that in their sleep, he took the kiss from them, a stolen kiss — almost, and yet no one denied him. Still, I sensed just the tiniest frisson of fear in each of them, but then there would be, wouldn’t there? A kiss from a stranger in a darkened plane could possibly be as frightening as it was intriguing. When the kiss was finished, when he released them, it was immediately clear that they had fallen back into a deep sleep. This he did to everyone around him while I watched and squirmed on my first class bed. It was only when everyone else was sleeping soundly that he turned his attention to me.

 

 

Out Now—Shopping for A CEO’s Wife (Book 12 in the Shopping series) by Julia Kent (@jkentauthor)

Description:

Snowbound. Sounds so romantic, with visions of cuddling before a roaring fire, hot chocolate spiked with brandy, and a secret elopement.

Wait. What?

My fiancé’s father won’t stop trying to turn our pending wedding into a three-ring media circus so he can get free publicity for his family’s Fortune 500 company. My mother has decided she’s done with All Things Wedding and asks her teacup Chihuahua for mother-of-the-bride advice.

They’ve all gone certifiably mad.

Then the stress from the wedding puts my mother in the hospital, I scream at my future father-in-law in front of a camera crew and the video goes viral, and the romantic wedding that started with Andrew’s grand Pride and Prejudice proposal looks less like Jane Austen and more like Dostoyevsky.

So what do you do when you’re a fixer and you can’t fix something?

You give up on it.

Not on Andrew, silly.

The wedding.

Shopping for a CEO’s Wife is the 12th book in Julia Kent’s New York Times bestselling Shopping series. As Shannon and Declan enjoy their newlywed bliss, Andrew’s father wants to exploit Amanda and Andrew’s nuptials, much to Amanda’s chagrin. Can she learn to stand up to her future father-in-law and fight for what’s right? But the real question is: will Spritzy the teacup Chihuahua end up being a flower girl?

Buy links:

Amazon US:  http://amzn.to/2oNZIzR

Amazon UK:  http://amzn.to/2pVrlol

Amazon AU:  http://amzn.to/2m3pTC4

Amazon CA:  http://amzn.to/2mwHdgh

B&N:  http://bit.ly/2l5l9wd

iBooks:  http://apple.co/2mwzcYM

Kobo:  http://bit.ly/2mDjmuK

Google Play:  http://bit.ly/2m3vVmt

Goodreads:  http://bit.ly/2mBCKMg

*****

Excerpt:

Bzzz.

Saved by his phone. Andrew scrolls through his texts with a half grin. I know that look. He thinks he won. Won what? I decide on the spot that we weren’t having an argument. Not even a heated discussion. This is what being in a lifelong relationship is all about, right?

Pacing. I have to pace myself when it comes to conflicts, big and small. Especially small. Letting him think he won this one is important. Give an inch.

Take a mile later.

“It’s Dad again,” Andrew says with that mysterious new tone of voice he’s developed. I watch him as he reads his phone, eyes drifting over the screen, hair messy from the skiing earlier. Deep brown eyes narrow as he reacts to whatever his dad said. The muscle between his jaw and ear pokes out with tension as he swallows and swipes on his phone. He blinks rapidly, but his breathing doesn’t speed up.

He’s irritated, but not angry. Annoyed, but not pissed.

I tuck away his reaction in my mental database.

Lately, I find myself watching him with a strange fascination. Openly, obviously, and without hesitation. Andrew doesn’t seem to mind. I know he knows I’m doing it, but so far, he hasn’t questioned me. If he were to ask, I couldn’t tell him why. I don’t know why.

Yet I do it, day in and day out.

“What did he say now?” I ask politely, knowing the answer.

“It’s about the wedding,” Andrew answers, giving me a look that says, Of course. “He insists we need to hold it at Farmington, like Declan’s wedding.”

“Why?”

“His PR team says it’ll get more press. All the major media outlets will station vans there, and the comparisons will generate easier headlines.”

“What does that mean?”

Andrew rolls his eyes. He reaches across my lap and grabs his abandoned coffee mug. The stretch makes his shirt hike up slightly, exposing his waistline, a thin wedge of tanned muscle coming into sight. I catalog it, like I always do these days, and wonder when this will become boring.

“Dad thinks that the press will be more invested if they can sensationalize our wedding ceremony. ‘Will they or won’t they escape?’” Andrew uses one hand to make finger quotes.

“He expects us to be in Declan and Shannon’s shadow on our wedding day?”

“That’s exactly what I said to Dad! Almost word for word. And I told him no. Hell, no.”

“What was his response?”

“That we should ask your mother.”

*****

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down

Social Media Links:

Website:  http://jkentauthor.com/

Newsletter: http://bit.ly/2cnaTGc

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/jkentauthor

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Illicit Relations by Lucy Felthouse Now Available in Audiobook Format! #audiobook #audible #gay #romance

Lucy Felthouse’s almost-but-not-quite taboo M/M erotic romance novella, Illicit Relations, is now available in audiobook format. Narrated by voice artist Nick Dee, you can now listen to this coming-out romance on the go!

Illicit Relations Blurb:

Terry’s had a crush on his second cousin Justin for what seems like forever. He’s hidden it as well as possible, knowing that the other man is out of bounds, forbidden fruit. Second cousins getting together isn’t actually illegal, but for Justin the relationship is too close—he just can’t contemplate them being together.

But when some new information comes to light about Terry’s birth and his place in the family, the whole game changes. Suddenly the relationship isn’t so impossible, and things soon begin to get hot and heavy.

Audio links:

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2ocNNeZ
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2oLWJ98
Audible UK: http://adbl.co/2obmWfM
Audible US: http://adbl.co/2pxXthN
iTunes UK: http://apple.co/2oDrjUD
iTunes US: http://apple.co/2p0K99s

eBook available here: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/illicit-relations/

*****

Praise for Illicit Relations:

“One of the sweeter stories as it unfolded of the M/M romance that I have read, the sex is hot and steamy, and enhanced by the POV of the characters in the wonder of the moment, and the descriptions used. At just over 60 pages, this isn’t a long and complicated read, but a quick reading story that gives detail and breath to the characters, and provides some incredibly steamy moments for readers, leaving everyone with a smile.” 4 out of 5, The Jeep Diva

“Lucy has done it again with another great story that both entertain and enjoyable to read. Surprises are plenty in this quick read. Solid 4 star read.” In the Pages of a Good Book

“I would highly recommend this to anyone who is looking for a short, highly erotic and romantic read. Illicit Relations would appeal to readers of both sexes.” 4 out of 5, Blood, Lust and Erotica

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller) and The Persecution of the Wolves. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 150 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. You can also subscribe to her monthly newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Release blitz hosted by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Demon Love — Minus the Selfie

I’m talking demon lovers today. Sorry no selfies of me with a demon. All my demon friends are pretty camera shy. I met a woman once who really believed that god was her lover. I spent an afternoon with her while she filled me in on the details. God’s my lover … What does one say to that? The experience stuck with me and kept coming back to me. I often find myself wishing I’d asked more questions, wishing I’d listened more carefully. But of course the whole experience made me nervous. Still, how could the story possibilities now intrigue me? It was from that kernel that In The Flesh was born, teased out from the big question: What if it was true?

There’s certainly lots of evidence in mythology for seduction of mortals by gods and demons — even in the Bible. But what it it were true, here and now? What would that relationship look like, and what happens if that immortal invisible lover has a wandering eye.

 

 

 

In The Flesh Blurb:

When Susan Innes comes to visit her friend, Annie Rivers, in Chapel House, the deconsecrated church that Annie is renovating into a home, she discovers her outgoing friend changed, reclusive, secretive, and completely enthralled by a mysterious lover, whose presence is always felt, but never seen, a lover whom she claims is god. As her holiday turns into a nightmare, Susan must come to grips with the fact that her friend’s lover is neither imaginary nor is he human, and even worse, he’s turned his wandering eye on Susan, and he won’t be denied his prize. If Susan is to fight an inhuman stalker intent on having her as his own, she’ll need a little inhuman help.

 

 

Researching God’s Lovers Excerpt:

 

By the time I finished my breakfast and was ready to go, Annie was already fast asleep, curled in her nest at the foot of
the altar. Outside, the smell of burning rubbish stung my eyes and the back of my throat.

I had little enthusiasm for the handbag sale, nor for lingering at the make-up counter. Instead I found myself in a coffee shop, laptop open researching God’s love life, which turned out to be a long history of seducing humans.

Zeus visited Danae in a shower of gold. He seduced Leda in the form of a swan. Eros came to Psyche in the dead of night forbidding her to look upon his face. Hades dragged Persephone down to the Underworld. The Virgin Mary was impregnated by the god of the Bible. In the New Testament, Christ is the bridegroom, and the church his bride. And the list went on and on. Perhaps even the indwelling of the Holy Spirit was just another way for divinity to experience flesh.

I had always loved mythology, and I’d read all these stories before. I’d just never put them together to get the whole picture. And though I was seeing an aspect of divinity that I found rather disturbing, I couldn’t help feeling there was still a piece of the puzzle missing.

I suppose I should have felt relieved. Annie wasn’t as unusual as I’d thought. God was the ultimate stalker, and he didn’t seem to be very faithful to his lovers. Just Annie’s type. I tried not to think about the implications of my experience in the bath last night. After all, it was just mythology, and I’d had a lot of wine. And there’s never any accounting for my vivid imagination. After all, I was a writer. I made my living as a teller of tales.

“What are you reading?”

I jumped at the sound of Annie’s voice and quickly minimized the page. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m feeling better.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

She leaned down and whispered next to my ear. “My lover’s God, remember? You can’t hide from him.” I barely had time to register shock before she reached down and restored the page.

“Trying to learn a little bit more about him, are we?”  She smiled at the monitor and nodded knowingly. “None of this does him justice. He’s the Hound of Heaven. He’s always pursuing those he loves, and there’s no escaping. Once he’s set his eyes on you, he’ll do whatever it takes to make you his own.”

I suddenly felt cold.

 

 

 

Buy In the Flesh:

eBook:
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Print:
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The Book Depository

 

 

“No one writes paranormal fiction like KD Grace. In penning her tales of myths and magic, she plumbs psychological and spiritual depths that most authors don’t even realize exist. Ms. Grace ignores tropes and conventions, following the trail of her stories down the rabbit hole of her own fertile imagination. The truths she unearths amaze, arouse, terrify and delight.” Lisabet Sarai

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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