Thursday, June 10, 2010

The Sweetest Thing

It's official...Black Dogs and Rebel Roses is DONE!

I can't express the sheer joy one feels when the final pages of a manuscript have been typed out. Of course there is still a long road ahead: final polishing (with the help of a group of generous pre-readers who I implicitly trust), submission to my editor, the pins-and-needles anticipation of waiting to hear that official "yes". Then there's the publisher's round of editing, the cover design, and waiting for the official release...

Still, I am overjoyed. 

To celebrate this new milestone I am posting one of the tastiest excerpts of this freshly self-edited story. Enjoy! And remember: 18 and up only, please! ;)

He looked back at her, sitting there with cool moonlight slanting in through the old dusty venetian blinds behind her, edging her lush hair with silver. She smirked at him, and there was a gleam in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Suddenly she was scooting closer to him and stroking her fingers across his face.

“I must be going crazy,” she purred, “but I think that I like being close to you. I think that I like it a lot.”

Skriker exhaled and his breath trembled violently. “I agree,” he breathed.

She rose up on her knees on the cot and reached down, taking his wrists in her hands, drawing his arms up so that they circled her firm slim waist.

“I turned away from you back there,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have turned you away…”

She bent near him and suddenly she was kissing him: her lips were lush and dizzyingly soft, her breath flower-sweet, and Skriker’s head was spinning.

His hands slipped up her back and under the fall of her wild dark hair, and their kiss deepened. She rubbed her long hands over his tattooed flesh, over the curvaceous muscle that swelled over his body. She gently touched the stabbing platinum blond spikes of his hair, brought her hands up to cup his face in her palms, probing his mouth with her warm velvety tongue. When she pulled away he was gasping, sweat standing out on his skin.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. Rose was smiling at him, licking her lips, her arms draped over his broad shoulders.

“You’re a good kisser,” she said silkily, her long black lashes brushing her cheekbones. Skriker leaned in to her, eager, and they kissed again. His hands moved down and cupped her breasts through her tight suede jerkin, fondling them, bringing her nipples to the surface.

“Wait,” she breathed into his ear, and she pulled away from him and unzipped her jerkin. It fell away, crumpling to the scuffed linoleum floor, and the beauty of her body simply took his breath away, as he knew it would. Rose leaned in to him and her magnificent bare breasts filled his hands and she was kissing him hotly, wetly, setting every nerve on blazing fire. Her nipples poked into his palms, hard pink bullets, and he was suddenly hard as a rock, certain that his dick was going to rip right through his leathers.

“Please,” Skriker whispered against her mouth. “Please…don’t stop…if this is it…oh, fuck, you’re killing me…”

Rose slid one hand boldly between his thighs, gripping his package through his leathers, and he groaned, almost painfully.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I know it’s fucked up, I know it isn’t right…but…” and then she was kicking off her boots, shedding her leather pants and vambraces, dropping them carelessly onto the floor.

Skriker followed her lead in blind adoration, tearing his boots and leathers off, seeing nothing but her beckoning hands and bare skin glowing with candlelight.


Worship me.

It was, just as it had been in his dreams, the most fantastic sex that Skriker had ever had, and he had had enough to fill a dozen lifetimes. The padded cot creaked beneath them as he pushed her back, watching her hair spill over the edge like a gleaming dark garnet-flecked waterfall. Skriker pushed her long legs apart and slid between them, his cock as hard and high as it had been when he had dreamed of her, standing on an onyx shore beside a lake of midnight. He bent over her and kissed her hotly, wetly, their tongues slick and tangling. He dragged his fingers through her hair and her head fell back; she arched up to him as he slicked his tongue over her long white neck, tasting the sheen of sweat gathering in the hollow of her throat. He cupped her full luscious breasts in his callused hands and she arched higher against him, whimpering as he gently pinched her nipples between his inked fingers, tweaking them, sending bolts of electric pleasure thrumming through her body.

“You like that, baby?” he murmured. He let his tongue make wet lazy circles around her dark rose areolas before he drew each of her nipples into his mouth, sucking the tender-sweet buds while she breathlessly whispered his name. She raised her hand and spit into her palm before reaching between their bodies and gripping his cock in her saliva-slicked fist. She stroked his long thick shaft and palmed the big smooth head of his dick with her warm wet hand while she cupped his balls in the other, rolling them gently in her long fingers, and Skriker groaned, pushing into her hand as she stroked him, every muscle tense and trembling. He wanted to come now, wanted to spurt hot male juices between her gripping fingers, watch his seed spatter in thick white globs across her heaving breasts—

No. Not now. Not yet…not until he was inside of her, until he had shown her all that he could offer and more.

“Oh, God…oh, Rose…don’t…please…I can’t…don’t let me…not yet, not yet—“

He stared down at her desperately and her eyes gleamed. “I won’t let you,” she whispered, and then she was pulling him down, inside of her, into that hot wet silken sheath that he worshiped so very much. He couldn’t hold back, not for a split second more; he rammed into her, filling her entirely, and she cried out shrilly, squeezing her eyes shut. She was no virgin, but her pussy was still amazingly tight and liquid-smooth, and it was apparent that she had never before been filled by a man of such incredible length and girth. Skriker found himself suddenly pulling back, afraid that he had hurt her, and that was when she locked her long firm thighs around his hips, pulling him down and holding him in deep.

“I’m game,” she murmured, and he began to rock against her, releasing all fears, all inhibitions. He would worship her, as he had worshiped no other.

The padded cot groaned and creaked beneath them as he plowed her like the soil. The little sick room was filled with the sounds of sweat-wet flesh grinding and slapping together, with Rose’s trembling moans and Skriker’s hoarse cries. Their shadows flickered on the walls, jittery in the candlelight as they bucked against each other, Rose wrapping her arms around his lower back, her fingers digging into the firm muscle of his lean hips and churning buttocks.

On the verge, about to spill it, Skriker decided once again that he didn’t want it to end. Not yet. He suddenly pulled out of her with a wet skoosh! and wrestled her over on all fours, her firm perfect buttocks high and ripe like double moons, the slick dark pink folds of her pussy gleaming juicily up at him.

And that was when he saw them: the dual red wings tattooed on her back, huge feathered intricacies etched into her smooth flesh, cresting from the tops of her shoulders to the ripe slope of her buttocks. Wings the angry crimson color of a fresh wound.

“Wings…” he panted as she raised her ass, pressing it back against him so that her wet labia rubbed lusciously against his hard high one. “You have…wings…tattooed… you said you didn’t—”

Rose looked back over her shoulder at him, licking her lips, and seeing her like that with strands of damp hair hanging in her gorgeous eyes, he shut the fuck up and stopped caring about her tattoo. He spread her thighs wider and gripped his hard wet dick in one hand, guiding it into her again, and when he plunged in she tossed her head back and cried out gloriously. Skriker fucked her hard, grinding and plowing into her, his big callused hands gripping her hips, jerking her roughly back against him as he pounded away. The silken folds of her pussy gripped his engorged cock like a hot wet vice and he thought he would go mad with the aching unbridled joy of it all.

In the end, he pretty much forgot about the wings.

(c) Danielle D. Smith

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