He gasped as her slick walls encased him, and when she lifted herself off, leaving his sensitized dick just barely inside her, he gritted his teeth. She was absolutely gorgeous. Her tits and stomach, her flushed face. He reached up and pinched a nipple, and she bit her lip then slammed down again, her tits bouncing, her ass making a delicious slapping noise. It was all he could do to stop himself from coming.
“Tell me how you think this could be anything but real,” she challenged, breathless as she rode him.
He fought to answer, but his throat was closed, his whole body wound tight as he careened toward climax.
“Tell me how a chemical could make me want you this much. Could make me care about you this much. Could make me dream about you.” She bounced up and down on him, her face red now, alternating between sliding her mound up and down his length and grinding against his pelvis, taking his cock deep.
He felt her pussy juices coating him, warm and smooth. He smelled her arousal and licked his lips. He closed his eyes and reveled in the sound of flesh striking flesh. Her pussy widened slightly then pulsed around him as she climaxed. She gasped and screamed out his name, and catching her hips in his hands, he held her high above him, rocking his hips to pump into her.
Oh, damn! This was going to be a good one! He felt his come shoot up his cock and halt for a heartbeat at the tip, and then he exploded, filling her. He pumped in a frenzy, driving out every ounce of tension and come, every doubt and fear, until he was spent, content…and cocksure.
She wanted him.
He wanted her.
It was one hundred percent pure natural chemistry. The kind that lasted a lifetime.
About the author:
After penning numerous romances bordering on sweet, Tawny Taylor realized her tastes ran toward the steamier side of romance, and she wrote her first erotic romance, Tempting Fate, released March 2004. A second book, also a contemporary, titled Wet and Wilde, spotlighting a water phobic divorcee and a sexy selkie that no woman could resist, soon followed.
Tawny has been told she‘s sassy, brazen, and knows what she likes. So it comes as no surprise that the heroines in her novels would be just those kinds of women. And her heroes…well, they are inspired by the most unlikely men. Mischievous, playful, they know exactly how to push those fiery heroines‘ buttons.
Combining two strong-willed characters takes a certain finesse, something Tawny learned while studying psychology in college. And writing pages of dialogue dripping with sensual undertones and innuendo has also been a learned task, one Tawny has undertaken with gusto.
It is Tawny‘s fondest wish her readers enjoy each and every spicy, sex-peppered page!
Tawny welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, Suite 13, Stow OH 44224.
Also by Tawny Taylor:
Lessons in Lust Major
Passion In A Pear Tree
Wet and Wilde
“It goes poorly on the Volcanic Rim.” Kiko Lesia quickened her stride toward the Council chamber as the sun sank behind the capitol city of the former North American continent, now called Northwestland.
Dram Wolfel easily kept up with Council Chair Lesia. Kik was a small woman, but her speed and fluid grace were legendary, like her skills with the bow and blade. Her intelligence and foresight impressed the leaders of coven and tribe alike, and there was talk of Southwestland asking for her leadership as well. Wytch-Native hybrids were rare, but Kik had a powerful Wiccan mother and an equally formidable father from the central tribes. Just like Dram Wolfel. Just like most of the Warriors of Áis, who led the defeat of the Technocrats in the last uprising.
“The Northeastlanders can’t take care of this?” he asked respectfully but forcefully.
“Or the Southeastlanders?”
Kik shook her head, her long black hair falling loose about her shoulders. “The Rim is too remote, and too well-fortified. There’s something unusual about the facility there.
Akaroa is a military compound, I’m certain, much like the others we’ve destroyed, but this one…”
She trailed off, leaving Wolfel with distinct unease. He waited, still matching her stride without effort, a feat most could not accomplish. Finally she took a breath and continued. “There’s an energy to it. I’ve tried to scan it with my mind. Hell, we’ve even tried as a group. The shamans, the high priests and priestesses—from a distance or right up close—we can’t break through.”
Now Wolfel felt the familiar cold pain in his gut.
Dark magik. There was no other explanation. No amount of science could stand against the energies of the Earth and the combined talents of the Earthworkers. The Rim had to be infested with a perversion of the natural, headed by a shaman or priest familiar with the twisted workings of disease and necromancy.
The scars crisscrossing Wolfel’s chest and back began to throb.
But he knew he would be called to go. And he would go, without question or hesitation.
Gods. Goddess. Please, not again.
His jaw clenched against the pain even as Kik said, almost conversationally, “Of course we need you. We need all the Warriors, but I think we need something more, too.”
Wolfel’s unease increased tenfold even as his over-alert mind guessed at her next words.
“We need the woman, I think. Keli Dunkirk. She is very powerful.”
“She isn’t trained in fighting.” Wolfel stiffened, realizing he was talking through his teeth, unable to relax enough to stop it. “She’s a healer by nature.”
“She’s powerful. Far beyond anything we’ve dealt with before.” Kik stopped short in front of the wooden Council chamber door. “If the two of you were bonded, if you could work as a unit—”
“Don’t ask me to bed her just to use her, Kik.” Gods, but his jaws hurt now. His temples throbbed in time with his scars.
Kik laughed, making Wolfel clench his jaws even harder. “I’m asking you to bed her because you want her. And then I’ll ask the two of you to go to the Rim.”
“She’s a student.”
“She’s a woman, and next moon, she’ll have completed her graduate studies.”
“Who says I want her?” he growled, hating the telltale husk in his voice—and his rapidly stiffening cock. Just the thought of Keli Dunkirk could do that to him, which made him almost as furious as Kik’s flippant attitude.
“Don’t make me laugh again.” Kik patted Wolfel’s shoulder like an older sister.
“And don’t keep me waiting long. There’s something wicked on that Rim, something foul and dangerous. We need to put an end to it.”
And with that, Kik turned and headed into the Council chamber, leaving Dram Wolfel to grind his teeth.
Sun came to Midnight Bayou mostly in the afternoon, but it always came hard.
Even in summer’s trailing days, in the weeks leading up to Lammas and the Graduation Festival, the hand-hewn rooms of Stonefall felt more like slow cookers than classrooms.
Outside the academy’s sturdy walls, natural shade gardens sloped into clutches of pine and cypress surrounded by endless pools of oil-blackened water. Mosquitoes set up a constant thrum, kept at bay by a thick curtain of mosquito bane and ever-smoking oil pots—rosemary, lemongrass, peppermint, cedar, clove, and geranium.
Keli Dunkirk, born and raised in the bustling mid-continent region, always thought the Bayou was too quiet in the day and too noisy at night. And given that her former home was located in what used to be Colorado, she found Midnight Bayou much too hot for her tastes.
The weather, at least.
The instructors were a different story.
She shifted in her desk and gazed at the front of the empty classroom. Dram Wolfel looked like a carved statue behind his desk. He sat, head down, studying examination slates as if they contained the mysteries of the universe. The scratches of his chalk filled the empty history classroom. To Keli, the last wytch yet working on her instructor’s certification exam, each noise sparked like lightning across a heat-stilled meadow. Each motion echoed like thunder against rock floors and stone walls.
hot. Goddess, was it ever hot in Midnight Bayou. Keli imagined the entire state felt like a high plateau in hell—and staring at Dram Wolfel didn’t help the situation.
Hades. She tugged at the collar of her blue robe. Of course, true wytches don’t believe in Hades…
but there are those who would argue that I’m anything but a true wytch
The Council had approved her over heavy objections, with a nearly balanced vote only one yea in her favor. She was the oldest novitiate ever called to practice Earthwork, and many Council members still believed she should have been excluded from training despite the strength of her late-emerging healer’s gift.
Keli stared at the long-finished questions on her test slate. No one in her family had ever shown enough elemental talent to be summoned for Earthwork, and she had been ten years past the usual age, fifteen instead of five. Years, confined in classrooms with children a third her age or younger. And she always had to be better than everyone else, perfect and beyond reproach. Even after she rocketed through basic levels of training, secondary and tertiary instruction, and qualified for graduate studies. Even after she completed those studies with a perfect average and stellar performance on each practicum.
A fully-vested and skilled healer, she had then won her way here, to Midnight Bayou. To Stonefall, the only teachers’ academy staffed by the world-renown Warriors of Áis. At thirty years of age, she would soon be an instructor herself, capable of teaching novitiates. Capable of going to battle if the Volcanic Rim kept making trouble.
Had all the time and humiliation been worth it?
. Keli smiled despite her growing inner turmoil. The dissenters at Council would at last be silenced, and she would have her pick of challenging positions all over the planet—at least the parts of the planet not rendered uninhabitable by the now-defeated Technocrats.
Still, on this day that should have brought her the greatest joy, she felt only conflict.
When she surrendered her slate, it would be time to leave Stonefall. She would be free to find her own destiny. Perhaps even achieve enough greatness to be deemed a Crone. She could end up robed in white, respected in every land by every people—but most Crones were virgins, or lovers of women.
Keli was no virgin, and she had little sexual interest in women. Moreover, she couldn’t imagine herself in white robes. When she allowed herself to imagine, there was nothing selfless or sacrosanct in her fantasies. They were all about pleasure, passion—
and unmentionable dark desires. They were all about one man, a man she might never see again after this longest of days.
She placed her chalk quietly on her slate and willed it not to roll as she studied the top of Dram Wolfel’s ink-black hair. As always, his silken locks were pulled tight against his neck, fastened by a Celtic clasp. Not a strand out of place. Wolfel would tolerate no disorder, least of all from his own body. He was a Warrior of Áis, after all.
One of the chosen, one of the Goddess-blessed Uprising heroes who finally defeated the Technocrats.
And the Warriors of Áis, male and female alike, were rumored to have the sexual appetites of wild beasts. Most were unmated and unpledged. They had fought too long and seen too much. They had walked through black fires, felt the cold of sinister magik, and lived to tell the story. They had too many scars on their souls to love.
They possess. They dominate. They know no other way. That’s why they stay at Stonefall.
To keep the rest of the planet safe from their dark desires.
In the two years Keli had studied with the stoic, stern Warriors, she had come to believe this might be accurate.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat. Part of her wanted to reject the very idea that Dram Wolfel might have to dominate a sexual partner to find release. The other part of her longed to discover truth in each whispered rumor about the Warriors of Áis.
At least one of those Warriors.
She could well imagine herself on her knees, serving Dram Wolfel’s every whim.
No matter how dark. No matter how painful.
Somehow she knew the reward would be beyond her imagination.
“I’m out of my mind,” she whispered to herself, then nearly fainted from fear that the man had heard her.
Wolfel kept his head down, obviously allowing no distractions. After all, he was renowned for his single-minded pursuit of excellence. He was the Bastard of Stonefall, and one of the most powerful wytches known to Earthwork society. And, he was…Wolf, only Wolf, in Keli’s endless nighttime vision-play.
He would have scars beneath the sensible drape of his druid’s robes, from the Uprising. His hands would be worn from helping lay stones in the walled cities where the remaining Technocrats were contained—all but the Volcanic Rim, where they always evaded final capture. The rest of the destructive maniacs had been isolated into compounds, and the world re-divided between native tribes and Earthwork bastions.
The planet’s healing had begun—but what of the healing of men like Dram Wolfel?
Each time Keli stood near him, her heart ached from the pain she sensed. And the rest of her ached from his need.
The former soldier of the Goddess would smell like storms, and his flesh would feel like pliable rock. His rumbling voice—ah, but that would be masterful and intoxicating, like his taste, like his firm, demanding grasp…
Keli’s body contracted at the mere thought of touching him, and she nearly came at the image of him ordering her to submit to his sweet tortures. With a sigh, she once more affirmed that she wasn’t Crone material. She was far too interested in men, sex, and Dram Wolfel. Since coming to Stonefall, she had known boys and men, but never an equal.