NO LONGER FORBIDDEN - mini excerpt

Reaching up, I slip my fingers around the back of his head again, relishing the soft silkiness of his dark curls. His hair is longer now, and I glory in that. It feels gorgeous to the touch as I draw his face to mine and start kissing his mouth, exploring it with little nibbles and darts of my tongue.

Mr. Laurence. Beautiful Mr. Laurence. My fantasy man. Here. Now. For real.

Even though I’ve taken the initiative, within a heartbeat he owns it again. His arms slide around me, hands roving, while his mouth matches mine in a contest of sexy little forays, flicks of the tongue, nips and probes. With his lips against my ear, I feel the heat of his breath on my neck, as he whispers, “You are everything I dreamed about, Annie. All these years… I thought I’d got over you, but I never did, you were still there, always at the back of my mind. Like a beautiful perfume caught in my brain, always reminding me of what I’d wanted but couldn’t have.”

I blink as we kiss. His thoughts are my thoughts. His feelings the same. For an instant, I ache for the wasted years, but then realize, maybe I wasn’t ready until now.

“But you can have me now. And I can have you,” I whisper boldly against his neck, opening my mouth on the words, tasting the clean, vaguely salt flavor of his skin.

“Hell yes,” he growls, his hand on my bottom, massaging, working my pelvis against his erection, “I’d do a ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ and pick you up and carry you into the bedroom, but my leg is pretty much just screwed together in places and I don’t want to falter and drop you.”

“I’m happy to walk…” Pausing, I nip at his soft lower lip, then laugh, “In fact, I’ll run there, then strip off and wait for you, if you like?”

“Wicked girl,” he purrs, taking control of the kiss and pushing his tongue into my mouth, hot and wild and thrilling.

Available from eHarlequin, Fictionwise, Books on Board Sony Ebook Store and Amazon Kindle

No Longer Forbidden by Portia Da Costa
Harlequin Spice Briefs ® 2009 ISBN 9781426836367
© 2009 Portia Da Costa
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher

Another Chance - micro taster

ANOTHER CHANCE is linked to Chance of a Lifetime.

Archivist Maud Piper has already had one sexy voyeuristic encounter with estate steward William Graves... and now she want more, a lot more, of the big, beautiful, forbidding man...

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Still, my heart beats hard. And down below, the slow stir of desire rolls in my loins. From within the cottage, there’s a faint clanking sound, metal on metal. What the hell is he doing? The door is stout, and the walls look thick, so I don’t hear footsteps. But a moment later, the heavy iron handle turns and the door swings ajar.

William Graves stands in the opening, looking me over with silent watchfulness, apparently unsurprised.

Moments tick by and I open my mouth to speak, but he pre-empts me.

“Come in out of the cold… I’ve been expecting you.”

My pulse races and my desire twists hard. He knows! He knows what I want! And he’s ready…

I follow him into the softly lit room and discover what the clanking was. Furniture is pushed aside in the small room, and a collection of ponderous looking free weights are laid out on the carpet in front of the blazing open fire. Without speaking, William hauls them aside, one after the other. He’s naked to the waist, wearing only combat trousers and a pair of work boots, and his skin gleams like beaten bronze in the flickering light. Still without a word, he drags a couple of battered and hefty looking easy chairs closer to the hearth and indicates that I should sit down, first gesturing in his spare, economical way for me to hand over my hat and coat. He looms over me while I struggle with normally easy fastenings, his big delicious body pushing all my buttons.

William Graves is younger than me, possibly by a decade, but something in his dark, navy blue eyes is as old as eternity. What happened to him, I wonder as I shrug out of my coat and pass it across. It’s not only his solid arms and his deep chest that are hard. He has an intrinsic hardness, a granite of the spirit.

Without asking me what I want, he pours generous slugs of Glenmorangie into a couple of cheap glasses, and hands one over.

“So how can I help you?”

“About last night…”

The two phrases come out simultaneously, and it’s like an unseen bubble bursts. We both laugh and the tension is gone. The whisky tastes good when I finally take a sip.

He nods, giving me precedence.

“What happened last night… I just wanted to say that I liked it. I liked it very much. I was… um…” Despite my superficial confidence, I falter… “I was hoping we might, well, follow up on it. Do more…”

His brows shoot up, and his cool eyes brighten and warm. He takes a long pull at his drink, then rubs a big hand over his short, dark brown hair as if genuinely puzzled… and admiring.

“You’re very direct, aren’t you?” he says softly.

Meet the Marquis

CHANCE OF A LIFETIME - Portia Da Costa

When Rose takes a temporary job at a dilapidated stately home, while waiting to pursue her dream career in the Caribbean, she doesn't expect to get involved with her mysterious, attractive and rather kinky boss... The Marquis.

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At seven o’clock, I’m staring at the door to the little sitting room. It was half in my mind not to turn up. To try and pretend that what happened beyond that slab of oak never happened. But doing that would be to miss… well… miss the chance of a lifetime. I might never meet a man again who’s into the things that the Marquis is, and I might go through life having perfectly ordinary, perfectly satisfactory sex, but still wondering what it would have been like to try the extraordinary kind with spanking and strange mind-games.

I knock as firmly as I can on the door, and immediately that deep, clear voice calls out “Enter!” from within. Crikey, he already sounds like a stern schoolmaster summoning his tardy pupil.

I tremble.

But there’s nothing fearsome or intimidating when I step into the room and close the door behind me. It’s cozy and welcoming, with a nice little fire burning in the grate to ward off the unseasonal damp chill. The thick curtains are drawn, and soft lamps emit a friendly golden glow that flatters the fine old furniture and makes it gleam.

It flatters the Marquis too, not that he needs it. He looks stunning.

He’s in all in black again, as ever. Tight black jeans embrace his long legs, and the splendid lean musculature of his thighs and his backside. As he rises to his feet from the depths of one of the armchairs, I imagine, for a fleeting second, spanking him!

Blood fills my cheeks in a raging blush, and I falter and hang back. A huge waft of guilt rushes through me at even thinking that. I open my mouth, but I can’t speak, and he smiles at me.

“Come on in, Rose. Would you like a drink?” I notice that he has a glass with something clear and icy set on a little table beside his chair. Vodka? Water? Gin? Who knows…

“Um… er… yes.” I flick my glance to the sideboard and a few bottles, but I can’t seem to compute what’s there so I just say, “Whatever you’re having… please.”

“Good choice… and do sit down.” He gesture like Renaissance courtier towards a free chair by the fire, and watches me as I make my way there, terrified I’ll trip or something, despite the fact my heels aren’t high or spindly.

I take my seat, and watch him mix my drink, swiftly combining clear spirit, ice, mixer and a sliver of lemon. He prepares the concoction perfectly, despite the fact that he’s studying me intently almost all the time.

I’ve dressed carefully.

Jeans are awkward to wriggle out of, especially if you’ve got a curvy bottom like mine, so I’ve chosen a soft, full summer skirt that almost sweeps the floor. A mini skirt would be too obvious, not lady-like and as I’m here with an aristocrat, I’m compelled to make an effort to be worthy of him.

On my top half I’ve got a little buttoned camisole, pink to match the skirt, and a light cotton cardigan over that, to keep out the chills. My shoes are low-heeled and quite pretty, and underneath I’m wearing my best and sexiest underwear.

I aim to please…

The Marquis comes across and hands me my drink, then retreats to his own chair. There’s a moment of silence, tense for me, but apparently totally relaxed for him, and I snatch the opportunity to feast my eyes on his gorgeousness.

He sits so elegantly, even though he’s totally at ease. Long legs out in front of him, booted feet crossed.

Boots?

Hell, yes! They do something visceral inside me. They make me shudder and my sex clench and seem to twist and flutter with their connotations of masterfulness. They’re old and soft and well polished and not all that tall, but all the same, I almost feel faint just looking at them.

And I get mostly the same feeling from the rest of him.

He’s got the most exquisite black silk shirt on, full of sleeve and so fluid it seems to float on his body. The collar’s fastened up for the moment, but I have the most intense urge to crawl on my hands and knees across the room and rip it open so I can kiss his throat and his chest and suck his nipples.

And not just his nipples.

His thick black hair is shiny with a fresh washed satin-sheen and his fine boned face has the delicious gleam of a recent shave.

Bless him, he’s made as much of an effort for me as I have for him. Another reason to worship and adore him.

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Available now from eHarlequin Fictionwise Books on Board and Amazon Kindle.

IN TOO DEEP - NC17 mini taster...

For connoisseurs of the old UATW scene... Professor Hottie McHotstuff and Gwen the buxom librarian get busy in the mop cupboard...

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We step inside and the foyer is deserted and cool, smelling of floor polish. Again comes the thorny question of handshake, hug, kiss, or more, but suddenly there are voices from above and the sound of feet on the open staircase leading upwards.

Expecting him to step away from me and begin some kind of fabricated conversation, I catch my breath when Daniel glances quickly around, then grabs me by the hand and hauls me into the little maintenance alcove tucked away at the back of the foyer, beyond the staircase. It doubles back on itself, and contains assorted cleaning equipment – mops and buckets and watering cans for building’s ornamental potted plants.

The voices are in the hall now, and so I can’t cry out and protest when Daniel edges me backward, against the wall, moving deep into my personal space and owning it completely. His left hand shoots out, cupping the back of my neck as he pulls my face to his and presses his lips on mine. While his tongue possesses my mouth, that tricky right hand of his is back on my thigh, sliding, sliding, rubbing the fabric of my skirt against my skin.

His mouth is voracious, compelling me to open mine and accept his tongue. The taste of his tongue makes my pussy flutter and yearn for his cock. Its thrusting action is blatant, delicious, intoxicating. I try to give back as good as I’m getting but he’s a tyrant, he subdues me, he’s in control.

And it’s not just with his mouth.

He’s not an awesomely tall man, but he’s got power, and momentum, and a hunger to match my own. He drives me back against the wall, only just avoiding us cannoning into a galvanised mop bucket and making a huge commotion.

As I hit the plaster, his hand whips down, then up again, sliding my skirt right up my thighs and admitting his fingers between my legs in the space of a heartbeat.

I gasp, but the inhalation draws his breath into my mouth. I feel as if his spirit rushes in with it, another possession to match the invasion of his tongue.

And his fingers.

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WATCHING THE DETECTIVE - unedited NC17 excerpt

WATCHING THE DETECTIVE - Portia Da Costa

Published in the LOVE ON THE DARK SIDE collection of erotic paranormal short stories.

Vicky and her boyfriend Sam are in bed, watching an all night marathon of Vicky's favourite cop show...

As the Channel ident flashes, I steal a split second glance at Sam, but he’s fast asleep already, mouth open, mad, black, curly hair sticking up at all angles and a tea stain down the front of his muscle vest. What a contrast to the sartorial GQ treat that lies ahead of me.

The story preamble begins. Some nasty perp up to no good as usual, but I’m not yet paying full attention due to The Detective not appearing until after the credits. Then the credits begin… thunder rolls… and the room goes black!

‘Fucking, fuckety fuck!’ I shout, regardless of Sam’s slumbers, and like an idiot, I start stabbing buttons on the remote still in my hand. As if that’ll restore the electricity.

And yet, against the odds, it does do something. Thunder cracks again and the lights flicker faintly but only for a second. They go out again, but astonishingly, the television springs back to life. The screen looks slightly blue tinted, but not too badly. It’s still perfectly watchable.

And the credits of my beloved cop show are still a-rolling.

At least it seems to be my cop show. My heart leaps again with bubbling excitement. It must be a special episode or something - maybe recorded just for this marathon - because the sequence of images isn’t one I’ve ever seen before. The frames are sharp, ultra clear, almost 3D, and as they fade from one to the other, each one of the hairs on the back of my neck seem to prickle and rise individually. And even though it’s the same familiar music, and the same graphic styling, there’s only the one character featured in the montage.

It’s just The Detective with no sign whatsoever of the rest of the team.

And at the end, he seems to walk towards the camera, my guy, tall and intent, dressed in an immaculate thousand dollar suit of bluish grey. His long stride eats up the ground, and as he approaches, he just keeps on coming… and coming… and coming…

‘Vicky Sheridan?’ he enquires imperiously when he reaches me, flipping out his hand‑cuffs from the clip at his belt. But before I can answer, he grabs me by the shoulder, hauls me from the bed and snaps the cuffs on me while I’m still wondering what’s happening and trying to catch my breath.

What?

‘You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.’ He grips my shoulder again, and propels me forward, parroting out the Miranda as if I’m the lowest of low -life of scuzz-buckets he’s just apprehended. ‘You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at government expense. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?’

By now he’s manhandling me through a familiar door into a familiar room, and I’m so gob‑smacked I don’t have a breath of resistance in me.

It’s the interrogation room. We’re in a familiar chilly grey box with the mirror and the metal table and chairs that I’ve seen in scores of episodes. And it’s just as soulless and intimidating in real life as it is on the television.

Real life? What the hell am I talking about ‘real life’ for? My heart’s bouncing around as if it’s on a bungee and my skin is a pointillist fresco of painful goose-bumps. This isn’t real. How can I be here?

LOVE ON THE DARK SIDE is available from Amazon.co.uk now and from Amazon.com on 16th October 07

GOTHIC BLUE - manuscript excerpt NC17

'Who were you yelling at?' enquired Jonathan as she re-entered the folly. He was lying on the divan, and his hand was near his crotch, so Belinda guessed he had been caressing his penis. He snatched away his fingers as she approached him across the tiles, as if not wanting her to think he needed manual stimulation.

Belinda knew she didn't need it. Her climax in the forest had primed her erotic spirit, and her sex felt empty, and in need of male possession. Half throwing herself onto the divan beside Jonathan, she crawled up onto her hands and her knees, and offered him her body in the most enticing way she knew. Poised on all fours, she undulated her hips, her thighs wide apart... Her whole body was wet, but her female flesh was wetter still, and she knew that with the next bold of lightning, he would see that.

Right on cue, the sky opened and pealed, and with a hoarse cry, Jonathan hurled himself upon her.

He slid in with such speed, and to such a depth that Belinda was pushed forward and squashed under him. As he pounded her and pushed her, she gnawed the old velour beneath her, and gouged it into bunches with her fists.

Gentle Jonathan seemed possessed with the same storm demon that she was, and his thrusts were savage and unfocused. He was hurting her, but she was loving it. In seconds, she was soaring back to climax. Rotating her hips, she shoved her bottom hard against him, then reached in between her legs to rub her centre. As his belly slapped her buttocks, she felt a flash of inner lightning, and as she climaxed, she stifled her screams in the soft grey cover.

'Lindi!' she heard Jonathan sob, then felt him lunge, then lunge again as he jerked inside her. She was squashed like a star as he shuddered out his pleasure, but in her ecstasy there was no awareness of discomfort.

Floating in stillness and contentment, she felt Jonathan soften and slide out of her... then roll over to lay his body down beside her. Remotely, she perceived the brutal storm was over.

The sky was quiet and the air was dark, and she and Jonathan were alone in their round, white folly. The night was all peace, and half gone, but to her surprise, she still felt that she was being watched. Scrutinised in intense detail, by a pair of eyes that seemed to observe her from within. Brilliant blue eyes that were both hot and icy cold.

ISBN 0352330759

Originally published by Black Lace in 1996 - new reprint April 2007 [US]

Gothic Blue is available from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com

Buddies Don't Bite - unedited excerpt

But then, inside, something intangible tipped over…

Arms like steel bands closed tight around her, and his tongue gently pressed between her lips, demanding entrance. She let him in, loving the strange coolness of the moist and mobile pressure.

Her arms came up, hands roving over his hard back beneath his thin cotton shirt. And the touch of that was cool too, like woven cobwebs slipping and sliding over marble.

Although she’d lived with this man for months, she very, very rarely touched him. She’d quite forgotten the shock of his cold skin when they’d shaken hands to seal their house‑sharing agreement, but now his hurried talk of poor circulation came back into her mind.

But there was nothing wrong with his circulation today, it seemed. Everything about him was active and hungry and full of life. Where before he’d been diffident, he was vibrant and eager now. Where he’d seemed to be holding back, he’d opened wide the gates.

Tugging at each other, they were suddenly on the kitchen floor just as she’d imagined, kissing like maniacs. Zack threw one long lean leg across her, and reacquainted Teresa with that phenomenal bulge about which she was forever fantasising.

This is demented! I’m kissing my landlord and he’s got a hard-on!

Unable to contain herself, Teresa surged against him, rocking herself shamelessly against Zack’s sturdy erection. So much for keeping their distance from and observing ‘friends only’ no go areas! Her outburst seemed to have altered all the parameters. There didn’t seem to be anywhere she couldn’t venture now.

He had the most glorious backside. Tight and hard and round like a brace of ripe apples. And when she grasped it, he growled in his throat in a most astonishing way. Deep and fierce, like the call of a jungle animal, it bounced off the kitchen walls and filled her ears. If she hadn’t had his tongue in her mouth, Teresa would have said, ‘What the hell is going on?’

But their tongues were dancing and she felt like growling too.

Deep in her belly, a famished hunger was gnawing at her. It was a long while since she’d had good sex. A real, hard, long wonderful session in bed… She’d held back with Steve, and had been hoping this weekend would be their romantic first time. But now, she thanked every lucky star in heaven that she hadn’t succumbed…

Now, she knew she’d been waiting and saving herself for Zack, and that the long weeks of abstinence would be worth it.

Oh, I want you! she cried silently to him, massaging his sensational bottom, and squirreling herself around against his cock.

Zack’s answer was to growl again, a low feral sound. His lips crushed hers, his tongue thrusting, thrusting, just like the sex act. Where the kiss had been gentle and controlled at first, it was totally off the rails now. His mouth started to rove, moving roughly, messily, thrillingly over her face, along her jaw, as his hips rocked and jerked in an explicit rhythm that met and matched hers.

It was like being a horny teenager all over again, but magnified to the n’th degree. Every part of her was hot. They were rubbing against each other like crazy animals, and Teresa was the one making moaning noises now, unable to contain herself as Zack’s hands went all over the place. Her breasts. Her thighs. The cleft of her bottom. He was surveying her physical geography, and he was impatient. His fingers wriggled between their bodies, tugging at her skirt and searching for access to her sex.

And all the while he was kissing, licking, tasting… and nibbling.

Nibbling? More than that… as his mouth reached her throat, she suddenly yelped and jerked beneath him.

Dear God, that is so hot! He’s biting my neck!