The 9th Instalment of Demon Interrupted: A Lakeland Witches Story

Demon Interrupted CoverI’m very happy to offer the ninth instalment of  Demon Interrupted, a new story from the Elemental Coven that will be unfolding in its entirety right here on A Hopeful Romantic over the next few months with the final episode on October 31 along with a special celebration and lots more Lakeland Witches fun.

The Lakeland Witches Trilogy left so many stories untold and so many fun places in the lives of the Elemental Coven yet to be explored, that a serial seemed like the ideal way to share more of the coven’s adventure. With a coven that specialises in sex magic, it’s not only exciting to revisit my witches at Elemental Cottage, but it’s sizzling hot.

Here are the links to the previous episodes in case you missed them:

Chapter 1 Demon Interrupted: Perchance to Dream.

Chapter 2 Demon Interrupted: A Chat with a Demon

Chapter 3 Demon Interrupted: Enter the Shadows

Chapter 4 Demon Interrupted: Dark Chrysalis

Chapter 5 Demon Interrupted: The Empty Spaces in Between

Chapter 6 Beneath the Weight of Shadow

Chapter 7 Possessions

Chapter 8 Necessities and Inconveniences

Enjoy Chapter Nine, and thanks for joining the fun with this Work in Progress.  If you want to know more about the Elemental Coven’s sexy adventures, check out the Lakeland Heatwave Trilogy: Body Temperature and RisingRiding the Ether and Elemental Fire. Enjoy! 

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Chapter 9

Demon Dreams

A small rivulet of perspiration trickled down Marie’s back as she looked down into the scrying mirror that had belonged to Serina Ravenmoor, the scrying mirror that contained the ethereal prison that had held Deacon. None of the memories involving the infernal thing were pleasant ones.

‘The arrangement is not to my liking either.’ Anderson spoke next to her. ‘But it is important that we have a way to keep the coven safe from Ferris and Ferris safe from himself.’ He took her hand and squeezed it gently.

‘They’ve been in there too long,’ Marie whispered.

‘Do not worry, Marie. Cassandra knows what it is she does, and she has only to will herself to return, and you have only to will the prison door closed behind her, though I do not think that it shall be necessary at this point.’

‘We’re all right,’ Cassandra called up from inside the mirror as though she had heard their concern. Ferris figured she well might have, since he had no problem hearing them. Voices from outside the mirror prison seemed to carry down to its occupants almost as though they were amplified. Though he assumed when the prison was shut and locked all sounds from above, all contact with the outside world would cease. He shivered at the thought.

‘The space inside is secure, as it’s ever been.’ Ferris spoke softly. He wondered if those above could so easily hear his voice. ‘Once Marie shuts the door, so to speak, I won’t be going anywhere.’ And now that he was no longer focused on the couple above, he heard the soft chatters of Anderson and Marie as though he were listening to them from inside a deep well and, indeed, the scrying mirror prison was much like a deep well, a deep well filled with a tiny slice of the Ether. It had been created as a prison for demons. For creatures such as himself, he thought bitterly. Of all that he had suspected of his past, that he might be a demon had never occurred to him. With a start, he felt Cassandra lace her fingers through his.

‘Don’t borrow, trouble, Ferris. I know your heart. We all know your heart, and all of us, every one of us, has a past we’re not fond of.’

‘Demons don’t have hearts,’ he replied, sounding far more bitter than he intended.

‘I’m not so sure about that. Spending quality time with my mother has caused me to question all things I know about demons, and the truth is, none of us knows all that much about them. Besides Lucia says you’re not exactly a demon.’ Before he could respond, she raised a hand and placed two fingers across his lips. ‘I know who you are, Ferris. I know what you sacrificed to protect me, to be there for me, and that’s not something evil would do.’

‘Perhaps I had no choice.’

She studied his face for a moment, than ran her hand along his cheek. ‘Perhaps not.’

‘And that doesn’t worry you?’

For a long time she said nothing and when he was convinced her lack of an answer was the answer he dreaded, she said, ‘Often things we’re forced to do end up being exactly the things we would have gladly done if we’d only understood at the beginning how they would affect us.’ Then she took him into her arms and held him. ‘You’ve been my family and my friend for a very long time, Ferris. When there was no one else, you were there, and me … well I wasn’t easy to get close to. It must have been lonely for you.’

‘Surely you know that it was not. Surly you know that Lucia made it very simple for me to live from day to day with little forethought and little reflection.’

‘Perhaps that’s true,’ Cassandra said, pulling away to look into his eyes, ‘but time and situations bring about changes we never anticipated, not even a demon like Lucia. And no one else could have been to me what you were in all those empty years.’

This time he pulled her into his arms and held her close. ‘I must ask you a favour Cassandra.’

‘Of course. Anything.’

‘There is a question no one has asked, and yet one that must be answered if, perchance, the worst happens.’

She stepped back, a look of suspicion settling lightly on her face.

‘Find out from Lucia if there is a way to …’ He turned away and paced in the emptiness, unable to meet her gaze. ‘You need to know. The coven needs to know if there’s a way to … end my existence, should things become too difficult, should I lose myself completely in the hallucinations.’ Before she could protest, he continued, raising his hands and looking around. ‘I know that you can keep me in this space indefinitely, and that is preferable to the alternatives, but if I am unable to find my way back to myself, if I am only safe when locked away in this little slice of the Ether, then … then it’s best for everyone if I am … destroyed.’

He could see the muscles along her jaw tighten. The misting of her eyes did not hide the dilation of pupils and the lightening in colour that meant the succubus within her was angry. She swallowed hard, raked her teeth over her bottom lip and said, ‘it won’t come to that. This coven will not give up on its own. If they didn’t give up on me, then they won’t give up on you and you shouldn’t –’

‘I’m not you, Cassandra, and this coven has been through enough at the hands of demons.’

‘This coven has been restored in part at the hand of a demon,’ she snapped.

‘That may be, but I need your promise, and if you don’t give it to me, I’ll simply approach Lucia directly. I would rather not do that. I would rather trust myself to you.’

She cursed out loud. ‘All right! All right. I’ll do what you ask. But I promise you it won’t come to that.’

He felt the tension drain away from his shoulders. ‘Good. And there is then one more favour I must ask you, darling Cassandra.’

She folded her arms across her chest and said nothing.

‘I need to know that Elaine will be taken care of if … if the worst happens. It’ll be hard for her, and having people who can care for her, comfort her will facilitate her healing.’

‘Goddamn it, Ferris! You know we would do that anyway, whether or not the worst happens, but I’m sick of you borrowing trouble. Now, this place gives me the creeps. Let’s get the fuck out of here so Fiori and Sky can prepare the room of reflection for dream magic.’

 *****

castlerigg_Stone_Circle1 It was evening before the circle convened. Tara and Kennet had spent a good portion of the day coaching Elaine on dream magic. That she was a witch had been clear almost immediately, but the sex magic practiced by the Elemental Coven was unique and the dream magic rooted in sex even more specific. Fortunately she seem caught on fast. Also, because of the specific nature of the task at hand, special precautions had to be taken and powerful protection spells had to be cast. Normally dream magic would have been done in the Dream Cave, but because the scrying mirror prison never left the alter, and the mirrors that surrounded the Room of Reflection added to the type of magic necessary should the coven need to imprison Ferris in the mirror, the Room of Reflection would be the place where the dream magic took place.

That Ferris didn’t dream, that he had chosen not to dream since he was released from the pact with Lucia, complicated the magic even further and also made the inclusion of Elaine in the circle essential. Elaine seemed to have touched Ferris in an emotional way no one else in the Elemental Coven had, therefore Tara felt she might well be the key to the success of the magic they were about to perform.

When, at last, the circle was cast, Ferris and Elaine lay upon the central dream pallet, surrounded by the strongest dreamers. Tara and Kennet lay on the pallet to their right and Cassandra and Tim lay on a pallet to their left. Anderson and Marie held the mirror at the ready because Anderson was the best at Ethereal magic and Marie was gifted at scrying, and she had a history and a connection with the mirror.

Alice joined Fiori and Sky as a witness. That there were three of them made their efforts magically stronger for observing Ferris’s dreams as well as encouraging him into the dream, and he feared he’d need all of the encouragement he could get. It would also be their job to guide him safely back if he were overwhelmed by the dream. Before the coven gathered in the Room of Reflection, Sky had guided Ferris in meditation and given him herbs to thin the boundaries between the Dream World and the Waking World, and he had done everything he could to be calm and prepared. Still, he felt as though something cold and dark breathed on him from just outside his field of vision, awaiting the approach of sleep so that it could reveal itself to him in all its horror. Better that than putting those he loved at risk, he reminded himself.

With a catch of his breath, and a squaring of his shoulders, he began the ritual. He eased the robe down off Elaine’s shoulders and cupped her breasts, focusing on her body and the comfort and the pleasure it gave him. She shrugged out of the robe and lay down next to him; opening her legs so that, in the dance of the candlelight, he could see the Gateway she offered him into the Dream World and, at its apex, the Key Stone that would help him focus. In his peripheral vision, not entirely in physical form, but more than just a vapour, Lucia hovered, watching over the ritual, watching over him. Her presence was strangely reassuring, and at the moment, he needed all of the reassurance he could get.

‘It’ll be all right, my darling,’ Elaine whispered against his ear, as she pulled him down to her. I have you here in my arms, and I won’t let you go. I’ll companion you, and I’ll come back to this place with you when you’ve found what you need to know.’ Her slender fingers slid between them and caressed the weight of his testicles and the length of his penis, anxiously hardening in against her touch.

Desire for her washed over him in heavy, pounding waves, she was his companion, she was his path, she was his breath, she was his life force, and he needed her. He kissed his way down the tetchy muscles of her belly, lingering to caress her navel, before descending to the Key Stone. He felt her buck against him and her body quivered at his touch as he tongued her clit and tugged at it with his lips. Below the pebbled swell of her, he fingered her open, probing and thrusting up into the silky mother of pearl wetness slickening against his touch. She was tight and her grip made him feel as though a heavy weight burgeoned between his legs. To his right, Tara wrapped her legs around Kennet’s waist and her hips undulated beneath him. Cassandra and Tim mirrored their lovemaking to the left, and far off he could feel the magic Marie and Anderson were raising like heat waves shimmering off a fire. Then the room slipped into a background haze like a mist on the high fells.

‘You’re ready.’ He heard her voice with the clarity of a black bird singing in high summer. ‘Enter the dream with me, Ferris. Let me help you find your way.’

As he thrust up into her once, and the sound of running water filled his ears, like the fast moving streams that tumbled down the mountainsides. He thrust again, deep and desperate. From far off, he heard her moan softly, calling is name, and then there was wind, drowning out her voice, drowning out everything. With the third thrust, his name on her lips became a mantra on the wind and he found himself floating high above Derwent Water, away from Keswick. He could see the traffic on the A66 like a trail of ants far below him. He could see the rising saddle of Blencathera and the dragon spine of Sharp
Edge. One final thrust and the landscape below swirled, blurred, and moved past him at dizzying speed. The roar in his ears intensified like a storm at sea and then howled like an angry beast. Then he fell from a high place. He thought the sound he heard might have been his own cry of terror as he fell and fell, endlessly fell.

And sometime, an eternity later, he landed with a bruising impact that took his breath away, that left him Pic from ETO winBqxJnN_CEAIXatU.jpg-largeblinded and shivering. ‘Elaine? Elaine, where are you?’ He woke to the sound of his own voice. His teeth chattered from cold and body ached and felt raw as though he had been flayed. It was dark, except for the heavy moon shining in the window. Carefully, he sat up and looked around. He found himself in the study at Storm Croft. On the desk next to him sat the basket with what remained of the gourmet treats Fiori had packed for him and for his visit to Storm Croft. His hand still rested against his open fly and his spent cock. There was no sign of Elaine.

The Heist, by Adriana Kraft (@adrianakraft)

The HeistBLURB

A heist? A murder? It’s villain’s choice.

A special-order art theft? Tedious, but seamless – until small town museum director Kara Daniels calls in the experts. Furious her favorite trio of priceless impressionist paintings has been stolen from its traveling exhibit on her watch, Kara is determined to save not only the paintings, but her future in the art world. She’ll stop at nothing to entrap the thief.

Ted Springs knows the underbelly of the criminal world a little closer than he might like—but he’s turned it to good advantage, first as a police officer, and now as detective for the Upper Midwest Arts Council. His job? To guarantee the security of the valuable paintings in the Council’s traveling exhibits.

Heat sizzles when Ted and Kara collide—can they work together, before it’s too late?

 

 

BUY LINKS: Amazon UK | Amazon US

 

 

EXCERPT

“I and my staff have already done fairly thorough background checks on all the museum employees,” Ted said.

“Oh.” Kara scowled. “I’m not sure I like that.”

“But you expected it?”

“Of course. At some point.”

“I believe in being efficient. Even before certain added incentives.”

“I can always change my mind. I don’t know a thing about you.”

“You know enough. I have large hands.” Ted chuckled when she winced. “I’ve worked for the Upper Midwest Arts Council for five years.”

“And before that?”

“I was a Chicago cop.”

“Oh.”

“I went into the army right out of high school and completed my BA degree at U.I.C. while on the force. Funny, isn’t it? While you were working on your MA at the University of Chicago, I was patrolling the streets of Hyde Park and South Chicago.”

“Really?”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe we bumped into each other.”

“I highly doubt that. I wouldn’t forget bumping into you. Remember?”

“Oh, right.” Kara’s flush returned.

 

Adriana KraftABOUT ADRIANA KRAFT

Adriana Kraft is the pen name for a husband/wife team writing sizzling romantic suspense and erotic romance. The award-winning pair has published over thirty romance novels and novellas to outstanding reviews. Romantic pairings include straight m/f, lesbian, bisexual, ménage and polyamory, in both contemporary and paranormal settings.

 

ADRIANA KRAFT ON THE WEB

Website: http://adrianakraft.com

Blog: http://adrianakraft.com/blog

Facebook Page http://www.facebook.com/pages/Adriana-Kraft/182846025133440

Twitter http://twitter.com/AdrianaKraft

GoodReads http://www.goodreads.com/author/list/1578571.Adriana_Kraft

Shelfari http://www.shelfari.com/adrianakraft

Google+ https://plus.google.com/102791537641895264573/posts

Pinterest http://www.pinterest.com/adrianakraft5/boards/

 

Planning a heist

Our latest release, The Heist, got its start on a rainy Monday a while back, when hubs and I attended a behind-the-scenes tour at our small Iowa town’s exquisite art museum. A new exhibit was about to open, and we were treated to detailed descriptions of the process of locating and ordering traveling exhibits, shipping them, storing them, uncrating them, hanging them, insuring their safety, and repacking them.

You must know by now that hubs is a criminologist  by profession. It didn’t take us long to be looking for vulnerable spots in the museum’s process, and by the end of the day, with a little internet research on the high stakes world of stolen paintings, we had our basic plot sketched out.

Our next problem was—what painting should be stolen? Clearly, we couldn’t go with an existing well-known piece of art. We opted to create The Three Maids, an entirely fictional trio of medium sized Impressionist portraits, based on what we knew about Monet, Manet, Renoir, Caillebotte, and the women they painted. We’ve put so much detail into the paintings’ descriptions that I keep expecting to see them when I enter an Impressionist display. If no one has painted them yet, I definitely think someone should!

I’ll leave the details of how the actual heist was planned, carried out, and (we hope) foiled for readers to discover—we hope you enjoy reading The Heist as much as we enjoyed creating it!

Finding Inspiration: An Erotica Author’s Tale

By M. K. Elliott

I read a great quote from someone on facebook the other day. I can’t remember who it was, so sorry if it was you and I haven’t named you! This particular quote was something along the lines of, ‘Just because I write about it, doesn’t mean I’ve done it … But it doesn’t mean I haven’t done it either.’ I loved the cheeky allure of this quote, and I had to smile when I read it. After all, I’ve lost times of the number of times I’ve been asked this very same question!

MK Elliot MarissaSo where does an erotica author get his or her inspiration? Even authors who don’t live a more exotic lifestyle, such as being in a BDSM relationship, or working in the sex industry, can take inspiration from real life. Life for me is far from exciting. I’m a married mother of three small children, so I have to get my inspiration from the more ‘normal’ things in life. This isn’t a problem, of course, because inspiration can come from all the influences in our lives. My latest novel, ‘Survivor’, which I hope to have out later this year, was partly influenced by my husband’s love of survivalist shows. The only reason I happily watch these shows with him is because of the (usually) hot, half naked man who spends an hour fighting his way through the jungle; the very epitome of an alpha male. On one particular show, they brought a female celebrity along, and I thought to myself ‘I bet she’s only gone on this show so she can spend a week up close and personal with him.’ And so my novel was born. I started writing it that very same night!

My latest serial was also inspired by a real life event. A few years ago, I attended (and spoke at) an erotica writer’s conference, Eroticon. Speaking at this conference was an erotic photographer. I’ve always loved anything artistic, and so went along to his session. It was during this talk that I started wondering about how the relationship between the photographer and a model might develop, especially since the model is exposing herself in the most intimate of ways. How could there not be some sexual tension in the room?

And so my serial, ‘Model, Wanted,’ came into creation. There are now four parts to the serial, with the fourth part just released, and part one free across most retailers!

So how about you? Are there any particular moments in life that have inspired a short story or a novel, or, if you’re a reader, moments that have happened that you wish could have inspired a story? If so I’d love to hear about them! And if you’d like you check out ‘Model, Wanted: Part One’ for free, you can do so by clicking on the following links!

Model, Wanted: Part One Excerpt:

Eric cleared his throat and forced himself to his feet. His job was to photograph her like this, not imagine how she would taste as he pushed his tongue inside her cunt.

He adjusted the lighting hanging from the rail on the ceiling and then picked up his camera. He started with shots of her face, one cheek crushed against the white paper-covered floor, her eyes wide and innocent, portraying her vulnerability. Such contrast to the pose she was in. He moved to her back and hands, taking shots of the metal bound around her slender wrists.

Finally, he moved the camera to aim between her thighs, at the way her spread position exposed her pussy and ass to him in all of their perfection.

“Are you going to fuck me like this?” she asked out of the blue.

He lowered the camera in shock. “That isn’t what this is about.”

She twisted her neck as best she could and locked eyes with him. “What about if that’s what I want this to be about?”

“Anya …”

But he didn’t know what he was going to say. Surely he didn’t intend on telling her no? The position she was in, with her cheek pressed against the floor, her ankles forced apart, her perfect heart-shaped bottom pushed into the air, was just ripe for fucking hard. Between her slender thighs, the swollen lips of her vulva peeped out. He didn’t think he imagined the sheen on her pussy or the inside of her thighs.

His balls ached and his cock lengthened in his pants. Her gaze shifted, resting on the increasingly obvious bulge in his crotch.

“Anya,” he tried again. “It’s crossing a line. I don’t want to be that kind of man …”

“But I want to be that kind of girl,” she said. She spread her ankles wider, pulling the small chains between the spreader bar taut. The metal clinked in response. The position widened her stance, her thighs even more spread than before, exposing the star of her asshole and the delicate inner folds of her pussy.

“Oh, God,” he moaned.

Fuck it. He might want to be a professional when it came to his photography, but he was still a man.

With one swift move, he undid his belt and whipped it from the loops of his pants. He took her bottom between his hands and lowered his face to her wet slit like a man starving. The scent of her juices filled his senses, a musky but sweet perfume. He buried his tongue between her folds, seeking her waiting hole. Hardening his tongue, he slipped inside her easily, her arousal and juices opening her up to him. Her cream covered his mouth, moistening his chin, and he moved in and out, feeling her inner muscles tighten and contract around his tongue.

Anya writhed and moaned beneath his attention, but he wasn’t going to let her come yet.

Eric knelt up behind her, admiring the view. He’d never had someone so submissive to him before, allowing him to do such things to her without any trepidation at the possibility that he might hurt her in some way. He knew she trusted him implicitly.

He took the rock-hard length of his cock in one hand and gave it a couple of strokes. The head was purple and bulbous, the length ridged with veins standing out beneath the silky skin. His balls throbbed with a heavy ache and he longed to bury himself in her silken heat. It was what he’d been dreaming of doing from the moment she’d first walked into his apartment.

With her head twisted so she could watch him, her cheek pressed against the floor, her gaze locked on his face, he slowly ran the head of his cock along the opening of her cunt. He groaned at the heat of her, smearing himself with a mixture of his saliva and her desire. Then he grasped her bottom, one cheek in each hand, and thrust himself deep.

Part One: Blurb

Meet Eric Rutherford, bad boy of the photographic world, guaranteed to bring his models to their knees.

At the top of his game, Eric creates images for five star hotels and portraits for wealthy families.

But Eric has a dream. He longs to create erotic art. He has an eye for a woman’s beauty, but he doesn’t just want to photograph a woman naked, he also wants to tie her up, and down. He wants to bind rope across her breasts, tight enough that the rope leaves an imprint on her skin. He wants to have her on her knees, with her hands handcuffed to her ankles. He wants to whip her rounded pale bottom with a leather flogger, and then photograph the red stripes.

So his search for his perfect model begins and when an advert brings the beautiful, blonde Anya into his apartment, his one fear is that she’ll say no.

Follow erotic photographer, Eric, and model, Anya’s sexy exploits as they push the boundaries of not only their art, but their relationship. How far will they go to fulfil their sexual and artistic desires? 

Find Model, Wanted: Part One Here:

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

Barnes & Noble

iTunes

About M.K. 

M.K. Elliott is the author of the bestselling short story collection, ‘Rescued.’ A British author, she was born in Devon, England, where she now lives with her husband, three young daughters, two rescue cats, and a crazy Spanish dog. Though she has a degree in Zoology, her true love has always been writing and she now works as a full time author. As well as erotica, she also writes paranormal fiction in the name Marissa Farrar, and has recently published her twelfth novel.

Since ‘Rescued’ hit the number one spot, she’s also had several other titles hit the bestseller list, including another short story collection, ‘Some Love it Hot,’ and her erotic vampire novella, ‘Deadly Beauty.’ Her most recent work is the sexy serial, ‘Model, Wanted.’

M.K. writes everything from contemporary romance to steaming hot erotica, and her love of travel and adventure is her main influence in her stories.

If you would like to know more about M.K. then please visit her Facebook Page https://www.facebook.com/M.K.Elliotts.Erotica or blog http://mkelliott.wordpress.com/. You can also stalk her on twitter, http://twitter.com/M_K_Elliott .

The Black Door by Charlotte Howard

The Black DoorBlurb:

Imogen Pearce is a single mum of four children and fast approaching 40, she works at Ryedale Incorporated where she has to battle a younger and smarter generation to get to where she wants to go. If that means taking on the account of Cherry and Sean Rubin’s adult shop, then she will. But what happens when Imogen discovers the private club that they run at the back? And what happens when she realizes she knows quite a few members?

Buy Links:

Tirgearr Publishing
Smashwords
Amazon UK
Amazon US

Excerpt:

Men. All the bloody same.

My mind traced back to the day I had given up on one-sided monogamous relationships.

The children were at school or work, and the sun was beating down. It was a glorious day, and I had decided to go home for lunch, rather than spend it in a stuffy office.

I pulled up outside the house and a fleeting thought passed through my mind when I saw Connor’s car sitting in the driveway. My husband of eighteen years had had the same idea.

I crept into the house, hoping to surprise him. But, it turned out that his idea had involved a slutty bottle-blonde.

I wanted to blame the events that followed on a red mist descending over me. The truth is that in the time it took for my mind to register that some tart was riding my husband in what I later found out was known as reverse cowgirl, my mind had calculated the necessary response.

The skank lost a good handful of bleached hair, roots and all. I allowed her to gather her clothes and watched as she tugged her pants on whilst running out of the house. If nothing else, the neighbours got a good show.

Connor yelled at me. But his words were drowned out by the blood pumping in my ears. I marched back up the stairs and into his little study. Opening the window, I saw Miss Slut stood in the middle of the road, screeching obscenities at me. I looked at the Ferrari in our driveway and smiled.

I think his Xbox enjoyed its first and final flying lesson as it sailed out of the window. The fact that it landed in the bonnet of his prized mid-life crisis proved that Karma does exist.

Connor. Holly.

I made a mental note of the two names at the top of my imaginary hit list.

I blinked and I was back in the boardroom.

Author Bio & Links:

British author Charlotte Howard, was born in Oman and spent much of the first part of her life flitting between Oman, Scotland, and England. Now settled in Somerset, Charlotte lives with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets.

Her career as a writer began at an early age, with a poem being featured in an anthology for the East Midlands. Since then Charlotte has written many short stories and poems, and finally wrote her first full-length piece of fiction in 2010.

During what little spare time she has, Charlotte enjoys reading and writing (of course), spending time with her family, and watching action movies whilst eating curry and drinking tea.

Charlotte is an active member of Yeovil Creative Writers.

http://www.charlottehowardauthor.co.uk
http://choward2614.wordpress.com
http://facebook.com/charlottehowardauthor
http://twitter.com/Shy_Tiger

A Sneak Preview of To Rome with Lust, Book 3 in The Mount Series

To Rome with LustYIPPEEE! I just finished the first draft of To Rome with Lust, the third book in The Mount Series, which will be out late this autumn. I’ve had so much fun romping and sniffing with Liza and Paulo that I thought I’d share a bit of the fun with you. Here is a sneak preview of the sizzling fun.

Blurb To Rome with Lust:

Book three of The Mount trilogy (Click here for The Initiation of Ms Holly Book One |and Fulfilling the Contract Book Two)

The adventure that began with Rita Holly in London, then moved to Las Vegas with Nick Chase continues in Rome when a chance encounter among the Roman ruins has tourist, Liza Calendar, and perfumer, Paulo ‘The Nose’ Delacour, in sexy olfactory heaven. Paulo is the heir apparent of Martelli Fragrance, a roll Rita Holly abdicated to lead the Mount in London. With her magnificently sensitive nose leading the way, Liza uncovers Martelli’s hidden secret –it’s the front for the original Mount, an international secret society with sexual rites into which Paulo is more than willing to initiate her.

Excerpt: 

At first Liza thought she had only dreamed such an exquisite scent. She’d certainly never smelled anything so sexy while she was awake. Strange, though because her dreams had always been the only part of her life that was olfactory-free. She sat in the business lounge at LaGuardia, dozing, blocking out the noise and the smell of the busy shuffle. But this smell, was different. This smell was just too delicious to ignore. It intensified, then faded, and she snuffled and inhaled and shifted in her seat.

The place was packed with passengers awaiting a spate of flights going out at nearly the same time. She was there way early, thanks to Carl. But after a miserable night alone in a hotel room, she had no reason to hang around – not after what she’d seen … and smelled. She didn’t want to think about Carl. The fog around her thickened and she drowsed.

She had just slipped back into that space between wakefulness and sleep when the scent wafted over her again. There was no denying it was the primal smell of male. It was the smell of desert lightening, of sage and juniper and thick, dark night. It was the smell of sex – or at least the intimation of sex or what sex might be like with this man.

Jesus, was she really going to have sexy dreams right here in the airport? What next? Would she be rubbing herself against the sofa while all the businessmen and the tourist pretended not to notice? Surely it must have to do with the sex she’d expected to have last night, but didn’t get. Surely it was just her angry unconscious inventing an olfactory fantasy, but God, the man smelled good – better than anyone she’d ever smelled, and she smelled everyone! She inhaled again and her deep intake of scent came out sounding like a sigh. Her lips parted just enough to take in the fullness of the experience, like a cat making an effort to taste that hypnotic smell of masculinity. Her nipples chafed and hardened against her bra until they dominated the front of her sweater with an achy tetchy fullness that matched the tightening she felt between her thighs. It was as though the man stood right over her. She could smell expensive fabric weighted and warmed with the heat of his flesh, his crotch so close made her mouth water. The scent was heavy, thickening, male — driven by passion, and it was so close she could taste it.

The view from the offices of Martelli Fragrance
The view from the offices of Martelli Fragrance

To Liza the scent was like a magnate and, in the dreamy state in which she floated, she shifted, she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward to draw him to her, wanting nothing so much as to touch, to caress, to experiment on ways to arouse from her dream man more of that delicious scent, ways to bring the smell of his maleness, his arousal to the forefront, next to her breath, next to her mouth.

There was a soft grunt, a startled gasp, and a large hand came down heavily on her shoulder. A desperate clearing of a throat and a slightly accented ‘Pardon me.’

She opened her eyes and found herself nose to crotch with a very expensive suit not quite able to disguise a very nice package. Her fingers were fisted in the edges of the front pockets of his trousers, reeling their wearer ever closer and closer to her salivating mouth. She yelped and practically shoved the guy, who might have fallen if not for the hand resting on her shoulder. ‘Oh my god! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I was dreaming.’ Her face burning and her heart doing a drumroll in her ears, she raised her eyes up and up and up the length of the well-filled out charcoal suit to meet rich caramel eyes looking down at her from beneath thick midnight lashes. Damn it, if she were going to make a fool of herself, she was going to have the courage to apologise eye to eye. But wow! The scent hit her in waves, making her giddy, making her want to sniff like a dog in heat, making her feel wrong-footed and out of focus.

‘Must have been some dream.’ His eyes sparkled and he offered her a half-smile. His warm hands fell to cover hers and disengage them from his pockets. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I woke you,’ but I’d really hate it if your dream got us both kicked out of the lounge.’ His thumbs brushed over the backs of her knuckles before he released her. ‘Is it all right if I share you sofa? The lounge is quite crowded.’

‘Yes! Of course, please.’ She shifted and rearranged herself, resisting the urge to fold her arms across her perky nipples. Even harder was resisting the urge to pant and sniff. My God, how can anyone smell so good? If an aphrodisiac could be inhaled, his scent would so be that aphrodisiac. She felt moist and swollen against the crotch of her panties, too tender for the weight of her body against to sofa.

‘Are you all right?’ The man’s eyes had darkened with concern. ‘You seem in distress.’

‘Fine! I’m fine,’ she said with enthusiasm that made her sound like a dork. ‘Just outrageously embarrassed.’

‘Don’t be. You made my morning, and gave me something I’ll smile about for what will be a very long, very tedious flight. You sure you’re alright?’

‘You smell amazing,’ she blurted out before she could stop herself, then felt the heat rise to her cheeks again. Jeez! Could she sound any more stupid?

He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. ‘Thanks. Ode d’ generic hotel soap and shampoo,’ he said.

‘No, it’s not the soap or shampoo, I mean I can smell that too, but …’ What the fuck was it with her? She practically attacked the guy, who handled an embarrassing situation very graciously, all things considered, and now she informed him she’d been sniffing? ‘Never mind. I … like I said, I was dreaming.’

He leaned forward in a wave of scent that made her dizzy with lust. ‘No, please, don’t be embarrassed. I’m very interested in all things olfactory. And I’m very flattered that you like the way I smell.’

‘I’m sorry. I have a sensitive nose.’ She forced a laugh. ‘I guess maybe I’m a little closer to my primate roots than most people. I … I pick up on scent … way more than most people do. Bit of an evolutionary throw-back, I’m afraid.’

The Villa d'Este in Tivoli, after which The Mount's Villa is patterned.
The Villa d’Este in Tivoli, after which The Mount’s Villa is patterned.

His smile was practically edible. ‘Humans are mammals. Mammals live through their sense of smell. Humans have just gotten lazy and forgotten how to do that. Real scent is hard to come by in a world that’s been deodorized, sanitized and scrubbed. Apparently you remember.’

Oh, she remembered all right. She remembered so much more than she wished she did at times. She could feel his dark, rich gaze against her, feel his scent baring down on her, now spiked with the cinnamon nip of curiosity.

‘So,’ he leaned still closer and everything in her suddenly felt tetchy and humid. ‘Tell me what you smell?’

God, she knew he was going to ask that. She should have kept her damned mouth shut. To ask her to describe his scent was like asking her to describe what she thought sex with him would be like, and with a scent like his, she could imagine it would be pretty fucking amazing. On the other hand, if he stayed leaning close like this, she’d have a few more seconds to sniff and enjoy before he suspected her of total nutterdom.

‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ he said. ‘As I said, the sense of smell and the way we humans use it is of special interest to me.’

She leaned in and inhaled deeply through her nose. After all he had given her permission to sniff. ‘You smell like a summer lightening storm … at high altitude. She inhaled again and closed her eyes, hearing the catch of his breath. ‘Beneath that, you smell like evergreen and the earth around tree roots.’ His breathing accelerated. She could hear it. She leaned still closer, and the slip and slide of fabric on fabric informed her that he’d done the same until they were nearly touching. She inhaled again. ‘You smell like cat fur in the sun, like a rainstorm on the wind just before it arrives, but that only a little bit, that a distant undertone, that’s because you’re skeptical, and I don’t blame you.’

It became a competition to see who could breathe the hardest. Down below her belly muscles trembled and tensed; in her panties, the clench and release, clench and release had left her swollen and pouty. She opened her eyes just a slit, and there was no mistaking the shape of his growing erection. Her own scent spiked all honey and butter and nutmeg.

‘What else?’ he breathed. ‘Is there more?’

‘Your curiosity smells of cinnamon and there’s a bit of irritation, tart, tangy, almost like lemon.’ Her eyes fluttered open at the same moment his did.

‘Oh it’s not you,’ he said quickly. ‘I mean I’m not irritated at you. It’s the trip. I didn’t plan to take it and now I find out … wait a minute. You can smell emotions?’

‘Kind of,’ she said, trying not to look at his erection, as he shifted to rearrange himself a little less conspicuously. Then she couldn’t resist. ‘What about me? Can you smell me?’ Jesus! Why did she ask such a loaded question?

He squirmed again, which did nothing to hide his needy package. A blush rose to his cheeks. ‘Maybe … Possibly.’ He inhaled a shaky breath through his nose like he was afraid of what he might smell. ‘The more we talk … the more I smell.’ His eyes fluttered shut again. ‘You’re … not wearing perfume.’

‘I never do.’ She eased herself closer, resisting the urge to rest a hand on his thigh. ‘It interferes with other smells.’

He nodded, as though he completely understood. ‘You smell like the sea, but you smell like honey and butter melting over hot bread.’

Did she just whimper? Oh god, please say she didn’t just whimper and shift her bottom against the sofa.

This time he inhaled deeply, boldly, pushing forward on the sofa, his eyes closed, suddenly making no attempt to cover the heavy strain against the front of his trousers, and the cinnamon scent of him spiked and became more peppery. ‘Jesus, I can’t believe we’re doing this?’ His voice was little more than a whisper between parted lips, lips that Liza would only have to lean into to touch with her own. ‘I can’t believe I can smell all that. I’m probably imagining it.’

‘No you’re not. You’re not imagining it,’ she whispered back.

He was suddenly breathing as though he’d just ran a marathon, each breath through his nose, each breath followed by a gulp, almost as though he were eating the scent of her.

The Temple of Hercules in Ostia Antica where Paulo and Liza do a little research.
The Temple of Hercules in Ostia Antica where Paulo and Liza do a little research.

‘People are looking. We should stop.’ She barely got the words out before he leaned in just a tiny bit further and, in his enthusiasm, his lips brushed hers. Everything spiked in a sharp stab of scent that went straight to her pussy, as they both gasped and sat back, eyes wide, fingers pressed to lips. A flight to Paris was called over the intercom immediately after one to Frankfurt and, in the jostling and shifting and gathering of belongings, no one was paying any attention to them. Though she wasn’t sure it would have made any difference even if they’d suddenly been center stage. Their gaze locked on each other, cheeks flushed, chests heaving, they sat locked in a moment so tight, so full that its breaking apart was inevitable. It was ridiculous. She was seconds away from coming, and his cock was about to burst his trousers and his lips, my god his lips, she could think of so many places on her body she wanted those lips.

‘I have to know,’ he gasped. ‘Surely you want to know too.’ Then he did the unthinkable. He curled his fingers into the back of her hair and pulled her to him. This time their lips met with a clash of teeth and a gasped swallow of oxygen that transitioned into parted lips and darting tongues and an absolute explosion of scent. If he had smelled amazing by himself, if his scent had sharpened hers to the cutting edge of orgasm, then the mixing and blending that happened when they touched, when those two scents came together was shattering. ‘I’ve never smelled anything like it,’ she breathed into his mouth.

‘Me neither,’ He bit her lower lip and tugged and their blended smell became darker, more spicy, tones of earth and sea, pepper and honey and my god the guy could kiss!