Sexcerpt Monday

Happy Monday!

This week is going to be a busy one. In addition to having a wicked writing deadline for Striking Distance, the next I-Team novel, I’m flying to Anaheim for the Romance Writers of America conference being held there July 25-28. It was a last-minute decision based largely on the fact that it gives me a chance to meet face to face with both my editor and my agent — and a chance to meet several of my readers who live in that area. I’m very excited about it!

I registered too late to participate in the big literacy signing that runs from 5 to 8 p.m. at the Anaheim Marriott, but I will be there with Defiant trading cards that I can sign for readers. So if you’re planning on attending, please look for me there!

I’ll be signing these at RWA.

I thought it might be fun to play a little game with excerpts just for fun. I can pick a sexy excerpt from anything I’ve written, and you can try to guess what it’s from. I won’t give any clues, and names will be deleted from the scene. I’ve been posting little sexcerpts on my Facebook page, and readers seem to be enjoying them.

So, without further ado, here’s this snippet, written long before anyone heard of Fifty Shades of anything...

She smoothed her skirts and looked around the room one last time. He’d arrive any minute. The candles on her bedside table cast a warm glow over the room. The covers of her bed were already turned down. In the middle of the bed lay the only pair of shackles she’d been able to find on the plantation. Though old and unused for years, they still worked. The key hung on a silken cord between her breasts. 

The creaking of footfalls on the stairs told her he had come. She smoothed her skirts nervously, her heart pounding. Could she really do this? She felt herself start to smile, but forced it away. A quiet knock came at the door. The handle turned. He stepped in and turned to close the door. He looked so handsome, dressed in a clean linen shirt and breeches. She had to fight the urge to rush forward and fall into his arms. 

He turned toward her, staring. “You look beauti—” 

“You’re on time, convict.” It took every ounce of determination she had not to smile or giggle. “That’s good. It will go easier on you.” 

She could see in his eyes the moment he understood her game. His look of confusion was replaced by surprise and then amusement before his gaze grew cold and hard. “I’m to be punished, then?” 

“I can no longer tolerate your insolence, convict. I mean to teach you a lesson.” It was good she had rehearsed her lines. It would have been impossible to say them else. Was she really going through with this? 

He leaned against her bedpost nonchalantly, crossing his arms. Defiant and confident, he reminded her so much of the man he’d been when she’d first purchased his indenture. “And what makes you think I’ll cooperate, Mistress, when I could just as easily break your pretty neck?” 

“You’ll find what I have in mind far more pleasant than what you’ll receive if you disobey.” 

“I see.” His gaze raked over her body in blatant sexual appraisal, and she shivered in anticipation. “And just what do you have in mind?” 

 

“Undress—slowly.” 

He raised an eyebrow, then untied his shirt and slowly pulled it over his head. It fell, forgotten, at his feet. Candlelight cast the bronzed muscles of his arms, chest, and abdomen in glorious high relief. He reached for the opening of his breeches and began to untie them, his muscles shifting beneath sun-bronzed skin.

She felt desire flow like warm brandy through her veins. “Slowly, convict.” 

His gaze locked with hers again as ever so slowly he pulled on the ties, undid his breeches, and let them drop to the floor. He was rock hard, his sex thick and heavy. 

She found she could scarcely breathe. “Your hair. Remove the thong.” 

Not breaking eye contact, he reached back with one hand, and his dark hair slid free, falling just below his shoulders. He looked untamed, fiercely male, and, with his lash scars, not a little dangerous. He stepped toward her. 

She stepped back and pointed to the bed. “Stop! The shackles. Lock one end around your right wrist, then pass the chain behind the bedpost, lie down, and lock the other end around your left wrist.” 

He looked at the bed and saw the shackles. She heard his quick intake of breath and saw a shadow pass over his face. Then it was gone. 

“Don’t you trust me, fair mistress?” His voice was dark as sin and soft as velvet. His eyes held the allure of every man who’d ever tried to beguile a woman into a false sense of sexual safety. 

“Never.” She smiled and spoke in a rich, seductive voice she didn’t know she had. “But I will have your complete cooperation.” 

“I see.” Naked, he walked to the bed, picked up the shackles, and closed one end around his right wrist. It locked with a click. He sat and moved backward across the bed, then reached behind his head and passed the chain behind one of the bedposts. “What makes you think these chains will protect you?” 

“Do it, convict.” 

He lay down, then reached back to cuff his left wrist. Click. He lay diagonally across the bed, completely vulnerable. His arms were stretched over his head. His chest rose and fell with each breath. His rigid sex stood defiantly against his abdomen. His legs, spread slightly, stretched the length of the bed, his feet hanging just over the edge. A tremor passed from her belly to her sex. 

His gaze, cold and menacing, bored through her. “Do you like what you see?” 

“Aye, convict. And it’s good for you that I do.” Almost trembling with excitement, she loosened her bodice until her breasts were visible. Then she moved to the bed and began to caress him, first his feet, then his ankles and calves. Where her hands touched, her lips and tongue soon followed. She heard his breath quicken, felt his muscles tense, and reveled in his response. She worked her way up his muscular legs and over his powerful thighs, but, although she touched the sac that carried his seed, she did not touch his shaft. “You’ve a remarkable cock, convict.” 

 

He groaned in frustration. The chains caught on the bedpost, clinking as he strained against them. “Is this to be my punishment then? To be tortured with kisses, soft hands and words?” 

Some part of her she’d never known awoke within her, and she felt herself grow more daring. Like a cat toying with its prey, she stretched across the bed beside him. She ran her fingers teasingly on his abdomen, outlining his erection. 

“Your punishment is that you shall see, but you shall not touch. You shall want, but you shall not receive—not until it pleases me.” 

He groaned again, and she kissed his chest. Her tongue found his flat, brown nipples, and she licked and teased them. Her fingers savored the soft skin and hair of his chest, felt the firm planes and ridges of his muscles. Everything about him was intoxicating—the feel of him, his manly smell, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. To have him in her power like this was the most intoxicating thing of all, a heady elixir that heightened her senses and her hunger. 

She kissed a path along the valley that ran down the center of his belly, then took his shaft in her hand. She’d learned a few things about pleasuring him since the first time she’d tasted him, and she was going to put them all to good use. Holding him firmly with one hand, she began to tease the head with her tongue, tracing swirling shapes over, around, and under. Then she took him into her mouth and began to move her mouth and hand together up and down his length, laving him with her tongue all the while. 

“Sweet Jesus!” His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed. His hands gripped the chains that held him fast. His hips matched her rhythm, and she could tell his climax was near. 

She stopped, fondled his sac, and let his passion cool. 

“Christ!” His voice was ragged with arousal. 

She found herself battling to control her own flaming desire. She’d never been in control before, and the thrill of it was like a powerful wine coursing through her blood. She wanted him inside her, but she could not, would not let herself have him—not yet. She ravished him with her mouth and tongue again and again, taking him to the brink, then stopping. His entire body was taut with unspent passion, and the sounds that came from his throat told her he was as desperate as she. Unable to bear it longer, she lifted her gown and straddled him. She saw his pupils dilate when he felt his skin touch her bare thighs and bottom. 

His gaze devoured her. “I want to touch your breasts.” 

She opened her bodice more, lifted her breasts so that he could see them, and circled her nipples with her thumbs. “No.” 

His eyes held hot fury and lust. He jerked on his bonds, the muscles of his arms and chest straining, but the chains held fast. “You are cruel.” 

“But not heartless. I want your cock inside me now. That ought to please you.” She rested her hands on his chest to balance her weight, then lifted her hips and carefully guided him inside her. 

They moaned almost in unison as their bodies joined. She rode him, grinding against him to pleasure herself. Though she knew it would not be enough to bring him to climax, it was everything she needed. With him thick and hard deep inside her, she quickly felt her peak near and let it wash gloriously over her as her sheath contracted around him. 

Her cries of pleasure mixed with his tortured groans, and she knew his anguish was real. She would have to end this game, or at least give him his reward for playing along so nobly. 

“Have you learned your lesson, convict?” She reached between her breasts for the key and dangled it before him. 

Then a hand clamped over her mouth, and, in a whirl of motion, she found herself facedown on the bed, one arm bent behind her back. 

“I tried to warn you, mistress.” His voice was harsh. “You should never ask a felon to lock himself up. He might not be trustworthy. Scream, and it will be the last sound you make. Do you understand?” 

Coming soon:
MacKinnon’s Rangers trivia
Interviews with Eileen Hannay and Gary Zaboly, experts on Colonial Rangers
An urban farming update