THE ACCIDENTAL MISTRESS - new excerpt

In this excerpt of THE ACCIDENTAL MISTRESS, Lizzie had just admitted to John that she loves him... something he knows already but with his chequered emotional history, has found difficult to process. Unsure of his own ability to love, he still wishes he could say the words and make her happy...

The Accidental Mistress is book #2 in The Accidental Trilogy.

***

Put a pin in it, she’d said.

John tried to, as he tasted Lizzie’s luscious lips, and the sweetness of her flowed from them, through his body. His cock stirred, rising to full hardness with shocking rapidity, even though his mind still whirled with the simple words she’d said.

I love you.

He’d heard her say it before, of course, but only in those moments when most people said crazy things they didn’t mean at other times; when they were coming or pretty soon afterwards. This time, though, he knew it was a statement of honest truth, and it was how she’d been feeling for a while. Despite her innate sophistication, and her natural zest for erotic games, when it came to playing games with the finer emotions, she was an innocent, and unsullied. She was guileless. Completely unlike the other significant women in his life before her.

He squeezed his eyes tight, not wanting to think of those women right now, not wanting to insult Lizzie with their phantom presence. Even his ex-wife, Caroline, for whom he only had benign feelings of fondness and gratitude.

‘What is it? Have I mucked things up, saying what I said? Don’t think about it. Forget it.’ Lizzie eased away from him, peering into his face. She looked worried, and he wanted to kick himself for being an insensitive fool. He desperately wanted to be able to say the words himself, but somehow he couldn’t. When he’d said them before, they’d been thrown back in his face … not just once, but twice, the beauty of them sullied, perhaps forever.

‘No, no, you haven’t. Not at all. You’re a beautiful, honest girl, Lizzie, and you know that I adore you… But…’ He paused, sighing… ‘I want to say what you said, but I don’t think I’m able to. It probably sounds stupid, but I don’t think those words have enough meaning for me any more… They’ve been spoilt.’ He took her face between his two hands, marvelling again at the purity of her features, the innocence despite her magnificently carnal nature. ‘But they haven’t for you, so don’t feel bad. And … I’m honoured and touched.’

God, it sounded so stilted. So tight-arsed. Like the very worst of the repressed background he’d tried so hard to ignore all these years. And fuck it; he knew it must hurt her.

Unable to bear seeing that pain in her eyes, he almost threw himself at her, kissing her with all the energy he had in him, but cursing himself for a lousy coward at the same time. For a moment, she seemed to hesitate, holding a back a little, but then, in a heartbeat, she was there with him, kissing him back with all the generosity in her soul. Accepting and affirming with the sweet way her lips yielded to him, and the bolder way that her tongue fought back against his.

Something was on the television, some meaningless words and flickering pictures, but it was like a silent movie from another age, incomprehensible. Barely breaking the kiss apart, they rearranged themselves on the settee, kicking off shoes and half lying alongside each other, bodies pressed together. He growled in his throat when Lizzie rocked her hips invitingly against him, caressing his erection with her belly. Her arms were around him, travelling over his back and arse, exploring and encouraging him. All qualms about making out in the house where she lived were forgotten, by both of them.

John couldn’t stop now. He didn’t want to. And he could feel Lizzie with him, her bold, daring spirit rising to him, laughing at inhibitions. That was the great wonder of her, always seeking the best and happiest and most vivid parts of life, not dwelling on disappointments.

Maybe I do love you, my darling? Even if I can’t say it…

He slid a hand up her blouse, loving the feel of her hot skin against his searching fingers. Simply exploring her rib cage excited him. His cock surged. He kissed and kissed her, stroking her back, then, when he could hold out no more, he slid his hand around and pushed up her bra so he could cup her breast, just as hot, just as perfect. She made a thrilling, female sound, a tiny roar of encouragement as his fingertips settled on her hard little nipple. Beneath him, her thighs moved restlessly, parting and creating a cradle for his sex. Gladly, he shifted position, moving into that gracious space, pressing the very essence of his libido against the essence of hers.

‘Yes,’ he muttered against her mouth, using the arm of the settee to brace himself, so he could push, push against her, massaging her. The friction was heavenly, yet he wished that their clothing would spontaneously disappear so they were naked and he could work himself into the cleft of her sex, unhindered. When he squeezed her breast and rubbed himself against her, she moaned, almost as if the clothes were gone and he was stimulating her directly. Her hands closed tight against his buttocks, squeezing and massaging him in return, her deft seamstress’s fingertips pressing into the groove of his bottom and tantalising his anus.

‘Jesus, Lizzie, yes… Oh, that’s nice.’ Her fingers dipped and teased as he dry humped her. He could feel himself rising up, the excitement climbing through his entire body, encompassing more than just his groin, even while his genitals grew more and more ready, closer and closer to crisis. Sensing he might hit critical long before he wanted to, he tugged at her skirt. ‘Take your knickers off, baby … I need to touch you. I need to be in you before I explode.’

Still kissing him, she began to scrabble, dashing away his hands from her skirt, so she could get to it better. As she did so, he worked at her upper clothing – her blouse, her bra – so he could get to her beautiful breasts.

Switching his hands to himself, he was just unbuckling his belt when a series of small sounds filtered through to him, penetrating a hot haze of lust that was both tactile and auditory.

It was a key turning in the old Yale lock of the front door, barely yards away from them, then the creak of hinges. Then a voice cried out, masculine, and known to him, but in a put-on, sing-song tone:

‘Honey, I’m home!’

Brent Westhead, home from his travels, and heading for the room where they were.

‘Shit!’

‘Shit!’

Lizzie’s hiss of shock was accompanied by her jerking, jack-knifing upright with all the sudden force of panic. A force that sent both of them sliding off the sofa.

With a double thump, they landed on the rug, tangled together, already fumbling to put Lizzie’s clothes to rights.

Keys jangled, and there was a thump out in the passage too, a heavy bag being dropped. As Brent’s footsteps sounded, Lizzie shoved John’s hands away and fastened the buttons of her blouse at lightning speed.

As a rectangle of light appeared in the corner of the room, she was just about decent. If somewhat dishevelled…

Silhouetted in the illumination from the hall, John saw Brent Westhead’s hand reaching for the light switch, but before he could speak, Lizzie cried out, ‘Don’t put the light on, B, you’ll dazzle us … wait a minute.’

‘Us? Oh … oh my God, I’m so sorry! Beg your pardon…’ John could hear amusement as well as surprise in the other man’s voice. ‘Don’t mind me. I’ll be in the kitchen, putting the kettle on, for when you’re decent.’ With that he disappeared, and they heard him laugh as he went, heading down the passage.

‘Oops,’ whispered Lizzie, her eyes merry in the lamplight, and her face rosy.

‘Oops, indeed,’ echoed John … then he laughed too.

Caught making out on the settee, like a teenager. Whatever next?

But as they stood up, and shook out the creases, he felt strangely light and young, renewed by Lizzie.

He smiled at her, trying to communicate that in silence, and through the flicker of light and shade from the television … and thank God, she smiled right back, as if she knew.

***

THE ACCIDENTAL MISTRESS will be published in August 2013, followed by THE ACCIDENTAL BRIDE in October 2013.

More information here.

Pre-order from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com

Lizzie and John's story began in THE ACCIDENTAL CALL GIRL

LESSONS AND LOVERS - hot snippet!

LESSON AND LOVERS - an erotic romance

What happens when a perfectly civilized sexual arrangement turns into a minefield of turbulent emotion?

Wealthy widow Hettie Miller misses her dead husband terribly, but is still beset by a gnawing physical desire. Lonely and confused, she turns to Starr, her late husband’s personal assistant, who discreetly supplies an after dark solution. At night, he comes to her bed and thrills her with intense, breath-taking sex, even though by day, their employer/employee relationship is scrupulously formal and hands off.

But Starr loves Hettie. He’s loved her since the first time he ever met her, but until now, he’s always managed to conceal it beneath a mask of immaculate manners and rigidly controlled reserve. 

During a summer getaway at her secluded country mansion, it finally dawns on Hettie that her feelings for Starr are far more than simply carnal, and the parameters of their relationship start to change…

Excerpt:

The evening had ended strangely. A simple throwaway goodnight kiss from Darryl had set Hettie’s senses aflame, kindling the sexual heat in her that seemed to be simmering all the time now.

“Goodnight, Hettie,” he’d said, walking around to her where she still sat at table. He’d looked a picture, all in dark blue, in a soft silk shirt and Italian‑tailored trousers. He was so handsome and so easy to want that under any other circumstances, she might simply have propositioned him. Especially when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her burning cheek.

Nephews kissed aunts like this, and favorite grandsons put their mouths this lightly and slightly to the cheeks of their grandmas. But to Hettie it was a trigger, launching a wave of sexual energy that swept over her belly, her breasts, and her pussy. It was over in seconds and she was stunned. And afterward she couldn’t even remember if she’d actually said goodnight back to him.

Later in the darkness, she couldn’t sleep. She lay thinking of her body’s extreme reaction to Darryl’s innocent kiss and of Stevie’s advice and everything they’d discussed. Her senses were primed and she longed for Starr’s arrival.

Are you even going to turn up?

A glance at the illuminated clock revealed a late, late hour. Surely he’d have come by now if he were going to. Throwing back the covers, Hettie prepared to do something she’d almost done last night—go to Starr’s rooms and seek him out—but at that very moment, the door slid almost soundlessly open and a tall figure appeared in her room.

Greetings and questions clamored in her throat yet faced with him Hettie could not utter a word. She simply watched as he moved forward through the shadows and approached her bed. There was a glimmer of moonlight through the partially closed curtains, and it seemed to paint his long, muscular body with silver as he swiftly shed his robe.

If only I could see your eyes.

The plea remained silent though as he lifted the bedcover and took his place beside her.

If only I could see what’s in your heart.

But the moonbeams weren’t sufficient to reveal him and his face and his amazing blue eyes remained frustratingly shadowed.

I must ask him! I must know how he feels!

The questions tormented her as he efficiently stripped away her nightgown, then ran a long hand down the full length of her torso, lingering at breast and hip. She opened her mouth, not knowing what she was going to say, but before she could utter a word, he covered it with his hand. The same hand that had shaped her curves settled gently but firmly over her lips, sealing her to silence.

In the darkness, he seemed fierce, almost like angry primal man forbidding his woman to speak. And then a second later the hand was gone. Only to be replaced by Starr’s mouth, kissing her with a new and unprecedented savagery as if he wanted to expunge any words that might come between them.

Starr, what is it? Do you love me…or hate me?

Her cries remained unuttered as she thrilled to the animal intensity of the kiss. Her jaw ached. She felt as if he were devouring her as his tongue explored and possessed the delicate interior of her mouth. And as he kissed ferociously, his hand slid between her legs, taking possession there too. He caressed her thrillingly, rubbing quite hard and occasionally edging back and forcing her legs wider so he could gain better access.

As she groaned around his tongue, he pushed first one, then two, then three fingers inside her, thrusting and rocking them until her besieged flesh yielded its pleasure to him and she climaxed so intensely it was almost painful.

A second later, he was inside her, his cock as insistent and dominating as his fingers had been. He powered into her, the strokes deep and angry. Instinctively, she rose to him, glorying in his loving ruthlessness and orgasming again quickly and violently.

Her mind was a maelstrom of pure feeling, but at the edge of consciousness, she still heard the desperation in Starr’s hoarse cry of release.

Was that true emotion he was expressing? Or simply the physical, as ever, overwhelming him? Exhaustion overcame her before she was able to determine…

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The Accidental Mistress - new snippet

Lizzie Aitchison's lover, multimillionaire John Smith, has decided to buy a house in the area. He takes her along to view a likely property... and as usual, John being John, matters take a sensual turn...

***

Unedited excerpt...

Dalethwaite was just as magical as it had been at the time of the garden party. It might be Victorian, but there was nothing dark or oppressively cluttered about it. She remembered it as being surprisingly light and airy, and redecoration in the interim had only increased that effect. The décor was contemporary, but it didn’t argue with the Nineteenth Century structure; the two had a harmonious conversation across the years, and the estate agent’s online brochure hadn’t done the renovations justice, by a long shot. Sunshine poured in through windows wherever she turned, and the ambience had a soft quality too, a liveable, easy warmth, despite the luxurious elegance of many of the rooms.

‘I’ve been here before,’ Lizzie finally told John as they entered the gorgeous orangery, a giant conservatory space that was at least as big as the entire ground floor of the house at St Patrick’s Road, ‘There was a big garden party, and I was doing a bit of on and off waitressing for a catering company at the time. It was like being in fairyland, and the guests were so glam in full evening wear and everything.’

‘Now you’re the one who’s glamorous,’ said John, flinging himself down on one of two low cream-coloured settees that were set facing each other, ‘you look amazingly at home in this room. Like a film star. To the manor born.’

‘Not really…’

‘Yes, really. Don’t be stubborn. False modesty doesn’t become you, Lizzie.’ The words were stern, but his expression was sultry and indulgent. ‘Now come over here and stop drifting around like a supermodel. I had a hellish time in New York, and all I really want to do is touch you.’ He paused, his brilliant blue eyes taking her in from top to toe, making her feel as if she’d been swept by a ray of heat. ‘And to fuck you in every goddam room in this place. And believe me, there are a lot of rooms.’ He held out his hand, palm up, but it was more a gesture of command than supplication.

Her feet frozen to the spot, Lizzie said, ‘But we’re only viewing the house, John. Someone could come at any minute.’ Her heart raced.

‘I certainly hope so,’ he replied, with a soft, fruity laugh, ‘that’s my intention at the very least. And as I’m feeling generous, I don’t mind if it’s you. Despite the fact I’ve got the most savage hard-on.’

Oh, he certainly had!

Even though she probably looked at John’s groin far more often than was decent, Lizzie hadn’t ogled his crotch for at least several minutes. Surely he hadn’t had that enormous erection a few minutes ago? Although maybe he had, and his jacket had hidden it?

Either way, he was sporting the most sumptuous bulge now.

‘Lizzie.’ Her name was softly spoken; a tantalising warning.

She walked towards him, helpless to resist. He really was the most crazy man. They were only viewing the house, and anyone really could arrive at any moment. Yet still she knew she’d let him do anything to her, anything at all.

****

The Accidental Mistress will be published by Black Lace in August 2013

More information here

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