tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44684537365665456432024-03-23T18:01:03.158+00:00Portia's Prosefrisky tasters and excerpts from the novels and stories of Portia Da Costa which may contain NC17 material only suitable for broadminded adults!Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-78657279630954829552016-10-11T15:53:00.000+01:002016-10-11T15:53:03.210+01:00Intimate Exposure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Middle management executive Victoria Renard works for a large insurance firm that has just been bought out by the mysterious and reclusive business tycoon F.W. Shanley the Third. Vicki and her colleagues are all concerned about their future, in the wake of the takeover, and into this tension-fraught situation, walks devilishly attractive freelance photographer Red Webster on assignment to take photos for a new company profile.</div>
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Vicki finds Red attractive but his sexy teasing rubs her the wrong way. Red in turn is turned on by Vicki's feisty, challenging personality and her undeniable beauty. He also senses a kindred spirit, a woman who shares his sexual preference for BDSM pleasure, and his hopes are confirmed when he discovers her reading a copy of "The Story of O" on her Kindle.</div>
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But unknown to Vicki, Red has a secret...</div>
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<strong>Intimate Exposure </strong>is published by <strong>Carina Press</strong></div>
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Available from <a href="http://www.carinapress.com/shop/books/9781426893179_intimate-exposure.html" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="Carina Press">Carina Press</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B006IIXB8G/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B006IIXB8G" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Kindle US</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B006IIXB8G/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B006IIXB8G" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Kindle UK</a>, <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/intimate-exposure" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="Kobo">Kobo</a> and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1107899339?ean=9781426893179&itm=21&usri=portia%2Bda%2Bcosta" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Barnes and Noble Nook</a></div>
<b><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif;" />EXCERPT</b><br />
<br />
<b>Chapter One</b><br />
<br />
“Watch the birdie!”<br />
<br />
Caught in the act of reaching over to retrieve her e-reader Vicki jumped, her heart thudding hard as half the blood in her body seemed to flow into her face and turn it bright blushing pink.<br />
<br />
Why, oh why did F. W. Shanley’s tame paparazzo—and her own personal devil—choose this very moment to play his candid camera games? She’d been to a meeting first thing and was rushing through the main office, laden with shoulder bag, briefcase and newspaper, and her nemesis had happened upon her at the exact instant her beloved e-reader had fallen out of the outer pocket of her bag on to the carpet. He seemed to have appeared from nowhere and popped up right behind her as she’d swooped down for the e-reader, presenting her bottom, in her slim gray skirt, as a prime target.<br />
<br />
<i>Might as well have pasted a Check Me Out sign on my arse.</i><br />
<br />
Snatching up her prize, Vicki straightened up, squared her shoulders and spun around as gracefully as she could, blending the look of unruffled calm on her face with just a smidge of cool disdain. Pretty effectively, to her mind, apart from the still-raging blush.<br />
<br />
“Would you be kind enough to delete that one, Mr. Webster? I’m sure it won’t be any good at all for your brochure. I can’t imagine your exalted master and his board of directors will be in the least bit interested in my…my rear end.”<br />
<br />
Oh, that wicked, arrogant, mocking face. Oh, that grin, that devilish knowing grin. And oh hell, those eyes, those strange piercing eyes. Their color was like fire seen through brandy and they noticed everything. Not just her arse, but the object in her hand. The amused glitter behind the lenses of his elegant metal-framed glasses told her he obviously knew what a e-reader was, and what it was for.<br />
<br />
“Oh, I don’t know. They might love it. I do. And I bet F. W. would too—might be just his thing.” Red Webster’s voice was deep and husky, and it always sounded as if he was just about to laugh. Well, it did whenever he spoke to her, anyway. Letting his large and elaborate camera drop on its retaining strap, he reached like a flash to whisk the e-reader out of her hand. Hampered by her other belongings, she was powerless to stop him. “I’ve got one of these. Great, aren’t they? What are you reading?”<br />
<br />
No!<br />
<br />
But before she could stop him, he’d flicked the power slider, and the secret of her current reading choice was revealed.<br />
<br />
Red Webster’s dark eyebrows shot up, and his weird eyes glittered. He whistled.<br />
<br />
“Outstanding. One of my favorites.” He paused, clicking onto the next page, his tongue sweeping his lower lip as if savoring the taste of her embarrassment. “I might have known you were a Story of O girl.”<br />
<br />
“Give me that!” she snapped, losing her cool despite all her best intentions not to. Others in the open-plan office were now watching their little drama, always happy to be diverted from minutiae of insurance policies and clauses. Lunging forward, shoulder bag swinging dangerously, Vicki grabbed for the reader—but got empty air while the infuriating Red Webster swerved gracefully to one side like a tango king and swept it from her grasp.<br />
<br />
“You’ve got to ask nicely,” he replied, a smirk of pure mirth on his bearded face as he clicked through the pages as if speed-reading. His curious eyes gleamed. “Or perhaps you could get down on your knees and beg me for it? Judging by your choice of downloads, it looks like you might actually enjoy a bit of groveling.”<br />
<br />
Vicki took a shallow calming breath. “Don’t be absurd, Mr. Webster,” she said as lightly as she could, fabricating that unconcerned smile again. She must not let him rattle her.<br />
<br />
But something in her tone gave her away. His eyes had been bright before but now they were ablaze, their heat immobilizing her as he stared down at her. Vicki felt sweat pop out along her hairline—and elsewhere—as the moment stretched between them like a tightening wire. More interested faces turned towards them in their immediate area and beyond.<br />
<br />
In a very short space of time it’d become common knowledge that she and the visiting photographer didn’t exactly get on, and it seemed that everyone was hoping for a ruckus. People at Wickham-Drake loved such confrontations. Even the smallest spat broke up the routine of office life, with its hours of staring at their PCs, hammering out reports and dealing with the never-ending succession of phone calls.<br />
<br />
“But I’m not being absurd. Why else would you own a book like The Story of O if the subject material didn’t interest you?”<br />
<br />
<i>Look, you, why don’t you just descend into your fiery lair…or alternatively, just go away?</i><br />
<br />
The words were silent but she had no doubt that the dark, imposing man in front of her still heard them.<br />
<br />
“I read all sorts of books, Mr. Webster, and this one just happened to be at a special low price at the moment.” The effort of looking serene made her skin feel tight, as if she’d had a face pack on too long, but when she reached out again for the e-reader, he finally returned it to her. Their fingertips touched for split second and a sizzle of raw electricity seemed to spit at the point of contact.<br />
<br />
Vicki suppressed a gasp, hastily stuffing the e-reader and the paper into her shoulder bag, then sliding both that and her briefcase in front of herself protectively.<br />
<br />
But she couldn’t protect herself from her imagination. It was as if Red Webster’s touch had triggered a slide show. On the screen of her mind, she saw images. Of herself with this perverse man, kneeling before him as he towered over her, immensely tall and powerful. Kissing his hand, abasing herself even lower, her lips pressed to the surface of his polished riding boot.<br />
<br />
Even as the preposterous image flicked out of existence, her sex quickened, hot and full of need.<br />
<br />
“No!”<br />
<br />
“Are you all right, Vicki?”<br />
<br />
His low and already familiar voice was teasing, yet at the same time he sounded concerned. As if he was worried by her sudden fugue and was a kind man beneath all the flirtation. When she dropped back into the real world again, Red Webster was still staring at her, those fiendish, almost unnatural lights dancing in his eyes. Once again, it seemed he could see what she saw, read her thoughts.<br />
<br />
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you, Mr. Webster.” She gave him another firm look. “Have you deleted that shot yet?”<br />
<br />
Solid black-clad shoulders shrugged, and he gave her a wide admiring smile, clearly enjoying her badly disguised antagonism.<br />
<br />
<i>For God’s sake, don’t do that</i>, she thought, alarmed all over again at the effect that even white teeth and firm sensual lips framed in a neat, dark, piratical beard seemed to have on her. Even when he was faking being nice to her, he was a goad and a challenge.<br />
<br />
<i>Get lost, you’re not my type. Leave me alone.</i><br />
<br />
She got hotter and hotter as he pressed a series of deft commands on the camera’s control panel. His hands were elegant, but they were large, and he was barely looking at what he was doing. He knew his equipment by pure instinct.<br />
<br />
What else came instinctively to those clever, sturdy fingertips?<br />
<br />
Panic assailed her along with new mind pictures. She had to get away from Red Webster right now. Or make him get away from her. And yet she moved closer as he held out the camera for her inspection and flicked through the last series of shots on its bright LCD screen.<br />
<br />
All was routine. Just photos of the room they were standing in and others much like it. Some shots of architectural features, the unnoticed beauties of the fine old building, hinting at what it had been before it’d been converted to offices. Shots of people busy in their cubicles. People chatting. People using their computers, maybe a bit fed up of the humdrum routine, but basically fairly content with their lots. Which she was, usually, when she wasn’t fending off the attentions of a large, sexy and distinctly mischievous man who seemed to have taken a fancy to her.<br />
<br />
“Okay.” She gave him a curt nod, hoping it would dismiss him and she could be off to her own office at the end of the room—the little box that was her perk as a section leader. But Red Webster remained where he stood, lifting the camera to his eyes, making an adjustment, and firing off a run of shots of the general work area around them.<br />
<br />
She was compelled to speak, even though she knew it would just encourage him to linger.<br />
<br />
“Why do you need so many pictures, anyway? How many illustrations does one simple little review need? You don’t think Shanley’s planning to sell the company on again when he’s only just bought it, do you?” What precisely did Red Webster know about F. W. Shanley III, the new owner of Wickham-Drake, the insurance company for which she worked? After all, he must have met the big cheese when he’d been given his photographic brief. “Or maybe he’s planning to shift us all to some glass-and-concrete block on a commercial estate and remodel this building as his own personal palace?”<br />
<br />
Those dark-bright eyes that plagued her so much took on a sudden shuttered look.<br />
<br />
<i>The bastard, he does know something.</i><br />
<br />
And yet when the answer came it was bland, noncommittal.<br />
<br />
“I couldn’t say. I’m only here to take photographs of the people and the building and do the art design for the report. F. W. likes to have something informative to show the global board when he makes an acquisition, with plenty of pretty pictures in case they can’t read.” He dropped her a wink behind his spectacles, suggesting that he held exactly the same views she did about plutocratic business mandarins.<br />
<br />
“Well, maybe if you didn’t loiter around here as much and took photographs elsewhere, you’d have a more representative selection to amuse them. And you wouldn’t be interrupting those of us who have more worthwhile things to do.”<br />
<br />
<i>No, why did I say that? Goddamn it.</i><br />
<br />
“Worthwhile?” His eyes narrowed, and there was nothing at all bland about his expression now. It was intense, complex, challenging. He seemed to be asking questions of her on some level that was way beyond verbal. Beyond conscious thought, even. But her body knew, and she was horrified to find it answering.<br />
<br />
<i>No!</i> she cried again, but silently, as everything about her stirred. The tips of her breasts prickled against the lace of her bra, and down below, her pussy seemed to ready itself to receive Red Webster’s cock. His decidedly sizable cock. She knew he was big because she’d surreptitiously checked him out when he’d been chatting up someone else at the entrance to a nearby cubicle. His black jeans fit a snugly as sin and didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.<br />
<br />
<i>No, no…don’t do this.</i><br />
<br />
Yet her own eyes no longer seemed to be under the control of her brain, and her gaze drifted down towards the crotch area of his jeans.<br />
<br />
His package looked solid and promising. Dear God, he might even be semierect right now. In the split second while she waited for him to continue his verbal goading, her head filled with pictures again. Pictures of herself kneeling before him and waiting for permission to uncover his magnificent penis and take it respectfully into her mouth.<br />
<br />
“Yes, worthwhile,” she answered crisply, exerting a stringent effort of self-control to banish the outrageous images. “Everyone here is committed to hard work on behalf of our sections and divisions and the invisible control freak. He might be a new boss to us, but we’re all still working just as hard as ever.”<br />
<br />
Red Webster didn’t answer for a few seconds but just looked at her, his glowing eyes steady behind his elegant glasses. His face was straight and his body calm, but Vicki knew without a doubt that everything else about him was laughing. Because somehow—inexplicably—he’d seen everything she’d seen in her imagination.<br />
<br />
He shrugged, the action causing his broad chest to lift beneath his fine cotton roll-neck sweater. The action only accentuated the graceful, massive power of his body.<br />
<br />
“Well, if you can call shuffling papers and policies about in an attempt to make some obscenely rich man you don’t know from Adam even richer ‘worthwhile.’” The disdain was on his side of the equation now, and it made Vicki’s hackles rise. Who was he to pooh-pooh wealth? He obviously wasn’t short of money himself. His unrelievedly black clothing might be casual and lived-in, but it was also obviously expensive, as was the deceptively tousled styling of his dark curly hair. And what little she knew about cameras told her that the one slung around his neck was the top of a very exclusive and high-end line. “And old F. W. is your boss as well as mine, you know.”<br />
<br />
“How could I forget it?”<br />
<br />
A shiver of unease slithered in amongst the hot brew of unwanted sexual feelings. All jobs, including hers, could well be on the line now. The company’s new owner was known for radical shakeups of his new acquisitions. Although to be fair to him, he was also noted for better company pensions and health schemes than many other employers, even in these troubled times. Not to mention generous severance packages and an innovative outreach program to help workers secure new employment.<br />
<br />
A benevolent despot was better than an asset-stripping hyena any day, she had to admit.<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry,” Red murmured, letting his precious camera swing on its retaining strap as he leaned against her desk, one arm wrapped around his middle while he stroked his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Our glorious leader sees all, hears all and knows all. And he’d never let a beautiful woman like you slip through his clutches. Especially one with such esoteric tastes.”<br />
<br />
He nodded towards her bag and the e-reader within. “Your job is safe, Vicki. You’ll be staying here indefinitely.” Something about the way he said that made her feel that her staying at Wickham-Drake indefinitely was a disappointment to him somehow, but that notion faded as he rubbed his hand slowly over his jaw. What would the texture of that soft black beard feel like against her skin? Especially the skin of her inner thigh, for instance, if he were to press his handsome face in between her legs?<br />
<br />
“That is, if you want to?”<br />
<br />
Zoning back into Red’s voice, Vicki mentally shook herself. What was the matter with her? The bastard was turning her into a raving fantasist. “My career plans are none of your business, Mr. Webster. Now kindly move on and employ your photographic brilliance elsewhere, so I can get to my office and my workload.”<br />
<br />
For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her and just loaf there against the desk, his long legs partially obstructing her path while his disturbing eyes monitored her every move. But instead, after a teasing moment, he straightened up.<br />
<br />
“As you wish, Vicki.” He turned to move away, then glanced back over his shoulder. “And the name is Red, don’t forget that. Catch you later.”<br />
<br />
The words were casual, a throwaway. And yet, instead of stalking off in the direction of her office, Vicki stood there watching his tall form stride away amongst the cubicles, still hearing that strange note in his voice that seemed to reverberate through her body, playing excitingly in the pit of her belly.<br />
<br />
When he’d said “don’t forget that,” it had rung like a command, albeit a soft-spoken one. And in the depths of her psyche, the woman who’d read The Story of O, and who’d found herself almost reluctantly entranced by dozens of other BDSM stories and novels, found herself imagining her nemesis as the perfect dominant master.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Frederick Webster Shanley III—the man known as Red by his friends and intimates, and who also used the same alias amongst virtual strangers—walked slowly and with apparent calm to the cubicle he’d been assigned in Wickham-Drake’s PR department. Reaching his desk, he sat down, placed his favorite camera carefully to one side, closed his eyes and smiled.<br />
<br />
Inside he wasn’t calm at all.<br />
<br />
<i>Dear God in heaven, she’s adorable.</i><br />
<br />
Still silent, still smiling, he set his hands flat on the desk, focusing on the pattern made by his fingers as kind of thought exercise. He had to do something to settle himself. It was all he could do not to groan out loud and clutch at his groin, his cock was so stiff and aching. He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman quite this badly, and wanted to do so many wonderful and terribly beautiful things with her.<br />
<br />
He’d wanted to shout with exultation when The Story of O had flashed into life on her e_reader, and he thanked his lucky stars that the e-reader had been tucked so precariously in her bag and fallen out. He’d run up against Vicki Renard as many times as was feasibly possible during the course of his little reconnoiter—as he liked to call these maverick undercover fact-finding adventures of his —and each time, something deep inside him cried out that she was special. His gut instinct had told him she was on his sexual wavelength, either latently or actively, but to have it confirmed had made his blood surge in triumph.<br />
<br />
If he was lucky, she could be yin to his yang, moon to his sun, submissive to his dominant. Her needs called irresistibly to his, and the image of her classic oval face, her dark blond hair and her large lustrous eyes seemed to float in his consciousness.<br />
<br />
While taking photographs for his fictional report, he’d found himself sidetracked again and again from his investigation and assessment of this satisfactorily prosperous insurance company he’d added to his vast array of holdings. He knew he should be formulating the managerial changes he was going to make and the new initiatives he was going to introduce. Initiatives like ensuring that talented, capable women like Vicki Renard were given the advancement they deserved and weren’t held back by the prehistoric male cronyism that still held sway in the conservative business world.<br />
<br />
But instead of his usual pragmatism in observing his new employees off guard, he’d spent most of his time here so far reviewing strategies of a very different kind. Such as what might be the best way to acquaint a woman who probably knew nothing of practicalities of sexual dominance and submission with all its rainbow of bright pleasures and dark practices.<br />
<br />
<i>But she knows…she knows… We’re halfway there already.</i><br />
<br />
He might not have to do much acquainting at all. She might be ready and eager to submit. Their edgy exchanges and little office tiffs might well just be her way of letting him know she wasn’t going to be a pushover.<br />
<br />
Even better.<br />
<br />
The pleasure in BDSM meant even more to him when the submissive woman was powerful too. Irrational, somehow, but when the yielding was only temporary, to him it was sweeter and finer.<br />
<br />
His fingernails dug into the blotter on his desk as his vivid imagination presented him with the picture of Vicki reading on her e-reader in bed.<br />
<br />
There she was, covers thrown back, her thin silk robe gaping wide to reveal her wonderful body and her legs akimbo. Her lush mouth was parted on a sigh, and she cradled the reader with one hand while the other was firmly lodged between her thighs. Pale, elegant fingers worked furiously amongst the pretty tawny curls down there.<br />
<br />
Red looked down at his own hands again, imagining what they could do to a woman like Vicki. Especially if he found her masturbating without his permission. He studied his nails, which he liked to keep immaculately manicured. Hands were important in games of pain and pleasure. They were the most crucial tools. He stared at his short nails and imagined dragging them lightly, or perhaps quite firmly, across the reddened skin of Vicki’s freshly spanked bottom.<br />
<br />
What would she feel like across his lap? She was a beautifully proportioned woman. Not skinny. Not fat. She had curves, but her toned shape said she took good care of herself. He could almost feel her writhing against him, jostling his cock as he alternately caressed her and struck her. Because he was satisfying her fetish, she would be heavily aroused, with silky moisture seeping out from between her legs and anointing his jeans. She might even climax spontaneously if his blows were delivered with the right degree of force and precision. He imagined spanking her right across her anus and hearing her cry out both in pleasure and in pain.<br />
<br />
<i>What the flaming hell is the matter with me?</i><br />
<br />
Pulling off his virtually redundant spectacles, Red gazed ceilingwards instead, almost appalled by the intensity of his own response, never mind the imagined response of Vicki. His cock was rigid, agonizingly so, and right now it would be a serious embarrassment for him even just to stand up. Never mind make his way to the men’s room so he could masturbate and ease his acute discomfort.<br />
<br />
No, he was going to have to tough it out. Do more mental exercises. Thought-clearing meditation. Maybe even check in with his PA on the sly to see if there was anything requiring his immediate attention or a decision. And maybe when he’d done all those things, he’d be able to sneak away and bring himself off. He took a deep breath and began the secret invisible ritual.<br />
<br />
But focus and detachment, which had always been so easy for him, proved elusive. The meditation didn’t work. He could only think of Vicki, a woman who seemed to have affected him in an almost—no, completely—unprecedented way.<br />
<br />
<i>If I don’t move things forward, I’ll go crazy.</i><br />
<br />
So instead he set his mind to solving his problem. The problem of how to bring himself and Vicki Renard into close proximity without her realizing how she’d got there and who’d brought it about.<br />
<br />
After a few moments he smiled and reached for his BlackBerry as the perfect plan materialized.<br />
<br />
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<strong>Intimate Exposure </strong>is published by <strong>Carina Press</strong></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", Times, serif;">
Available from <a href="http://www.carinapress.com/shop/books/9781426893179_intimate-exposure.html" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="Carina Press">Carina Press</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B006IIXB8G/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B006IIXB8G" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Kindle US</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B006IIXB8G/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B006IIXB8G" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Kindle UK</a>, <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/intimate-exposure" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="Kobo">Kobo</a> and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1107899339?ean=9781426893179&itm=21&usri=portia%2Bda%2Bcosta" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;">Barnes and Noble Nook</a></div>
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<br />Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-87383977454490267392016-04-08T20:50:00.000+01:002016-04-08T20:50:01.684+01:00Lessons and Lovers - Chapter One excerpt<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">
<em>Lover after dark…</em></div>
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By day, he's the perfect personal assistant, bodyguard, chauffeur… by when the lights go down, he's a devastating sex machine, using his hands, his lips and his breath-taking body to drive his employer to the very limits of pleasure.</div>
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Wealthy young widow Hettie Miller loved her husband, but night after night, she's tormented by desire. Lonely and confused she turns to Starr, her faultless servant, the man whose cool reserve and discretion hide the wild, hard-driving soul of a sensualist.</div>
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But does Starr really care for her, or is he simply performing his duties, as supreme between the sheets as he is elsewhere? Hettie hopes for more… because she's falling, and Starr's rocking her world.</div>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: medium;">Chapter One</span></b><br />
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The night was humid. Damp flesh slapped and smacked as belly met belly in a savage, primeval rhythm. Sweat dripped into Hettie’s eyes and coated her skin like a sheen of raw silk. It was almost a relief when the telephone trilled.<br />
<br />
But it wasn’t really. Not when she needed to come, and come hard. She died inside as Starr paused in the middle of a thrust and looked down at her solemnly. He was the perfect servant in her bed now, his eyes cool and shuttered. The lover had gone as if he’d never existed, and a clutch of vague unspoken hopes had shattered in Hettie’s heart. Her body still burned, but she felt like wailing out in loss.<br />
<br />
“Are you going to answer that, Ma’am?” His voice was as calm as a lake, his composure unruffled. Even the slide of his flesh pulling out of hers couldn’t disturb his complete <em>sang-froid</em>.<br />
<br />
So detached. Even now, thought Hettie, swallowing her disappointment.<br />
<br />
“I suppose so,” she replied, easing herself from beneath his long, golden body.<br />
<br />
Why, oh why, did this have to happen? Who the hell was calling at this time? Didn’t they have anything better to do than destroy the first step in her recovery? Destroy her chance to…<br />
<br />
<em>Chance to do what, Hettie? To understand your feelings for Starr? And his for you? </em><em>What if he doesn’t have any? Other than duty and respect and loyalty. And desire, obviously.</em><br />
<br />
What if, by asking him, she screwed up what she <em>could</em> have with him? Which was amazing sex. On demand. Whenever she wanted it.<br />
<br />
And tonight was the first time since Piers’ death that she had wanted it. The first time her healthy woman’s body had tingled and finally come alive again. The first time she’d wanted to feel a man’s stiffness moving inside her. The long gliding stroke of a cock to make her feel she was wholly and completely female.<br />
<br />
It had been months, and yet somehow Starr had known that tonight she’d been ready at last. Without any word or prior indication, he’d come to her bed, then silently and gracefully, he’d slid between the sheets beside her and started touching her with his unique, almost surgical precision.<br />
<br />
Not one word had passed his lips as he’d cupped her firm breasts and delicately kneaded them. Not one sound as he’d slid his stroking hand over her flat belly and her hips. Not a murmur had he uttered. Even as his fingers had parted the lips of her sex and played in the thick, clinging moisture they’d found there. It was only as he’d pressed open her slim thighs and entered her that he’d spoken, only as he’d possessed that he’d whispered her name. Called her “Hettie”, as he only ever had done when his cock was sheathed in her body.<br />
<br />
Her hunger had flared, that sense of being completely alive doubling and redoubling as her sex had quickened and gripped him. She’d cried out, riding his thrusts on the crest of a great, wet wave of erotic energy.<br />
<br />
But it had been more than just fucking, and the feelings much deeper. Her heart had leapt as her body had responded. She’d felt something fragile and beautiful unfurling that went far beyond sex. Some tenuous and unspoken emotional conduit being formed between herself and the man making love to her.<br />
<br />
And then the bedside telephone had shattered the spell, and her fragile hopes and dreams.<br />
<br />
“The phone, Ma’am,” he prompted.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><b>Lessons and Lovers</b> is available from:</span><br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">
<strong>Amazon</strong> :: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00BWU7TJC/wendywootton0e" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="Amazon US">US</a> :: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00BWU7TJC/wendywootton" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="Amazon UK">UK</a></div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">
<strong>iBooks</strong> :: <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id944483163" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="IBooks US">US</a> :: <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/id944483163" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="iBooks UK">UK</a></div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">
<b>Also from</b> :: <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lessons-and-lovers-portia-da-costa/1019743117?ean=2940046278040&itm=1&usri=2940046278040" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="Nook">Nook</a> :: <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/lessons-and-lovers-2" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="Kobo">Kobo</a> :: <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/297732" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="Smashwords">Smashwords</a> :: <a href="https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-lessonsandlovers-1146423-149.html" style="color: blue; text-decoration: none;" title="All Romance Ebooks">All Romance Ebooks</a></div>
Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-71204114269782090452016-01-25T13:54:00.001+00:002016-01-25T13:54:43.668+00:00MASTER OF THE GAME - Continuum redux!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/covers2/masterofthegame200x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.portiadacosta.com/covers2/masterofthegame200x300.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/masterofthegame.html">MASTER OF THE GAME</a> is a new reprint of my mid 1990s Black Lace title, <b>Continuum</b>. I'd describe it pretty much as romantic erotica because even though there's some pretty intense BDSM sensuality in the book, and some multi partner escapades, there <b>is</b> a strong central relationship at its heart and a 'happily ever after'! :)<br />
<br />
<b>Portia note:</b> This excerpt is the start of the book, but I must warn you that as I'm a disorganised twit, and don't have access to a fully edited version I can use for excerpts, this bit is from my original draft of Continuum. As far as I can see though, it's identical, or almost, to the finished version. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Prologue</b><br />
<br />
It arrived, as momentous things so often did, amongst the cluster of files and documents in her internal mail.<br />
<br />
Joanna Darrell picked up the small square envelope, which was undistinguished by any name or address, and felt herself tremble. She had a fair idea of what was inside, but still she held back from the moment of opening it, savouring a tension that she had come relish over these last, strange months; a sense of expectancy that made her heart leap, and her loins grow hot and heavy.<br />
<br />
What would he want this time? Something complicated and serious - involving long hours of preparation, and a solemn ritual? Or perhaps a lighter scene, something domestic, rather urgent and flirty?<br />
<br />
With the envelope in the centre of her blotter, she sat quietly for a few minutes, occasionally touching her cheek, or her hair, or her thighs through the cloth of her skirt. She flexed her fingers. If she didn't open the envelope, but instead wrote a name upon it and had returned it to its sender, nothing would happen. He had given her that option from the very beginning, but it was a right to refuse of which she had never taken advantage. She was an addict. He knew it, and she knew it. What the envelope contained was a summons to something that was so much a part of her psyche that she could not even consider giving it up. Now, or ever.<br />
<br />
Reaching for the envelope, she felt an area at the very centre of her quiver and soften. There was a slight, warm rush between her legs. It was the effect he always had on her, even when he wasn't physically present. As she slipped a fingernail beneath the pristine white flap, she felt her panties grow sticky, and her nipples, dark and pink like two rosy plum stones, become puckered and hard beneath her blouse.<br />
<br />
The message was terse, but that didn't bother her. Sometimes he was expansive, almost poetic in his communications, but when his words were short and sharp, he was at his most exciting. His most severe.<br />
<br />
<i>I will come to you tonight at nine. Be ready.</i><br />
<br />
There was no signature, no mark, but who else would write to her like this? Who else would expect her to obey him?<br />
<br />
Glancing at her Cartier watch - his gift - she suppressed a groan of longing. How could she last all those hours? She was ready for him now. Not ready in the sense demanded in the letter, because she was in her office, and empowered by her status, her expertise, and her clothing. But her body was entirely prepared to receive him. His instruction, on the white paper, had made her wet. Anticipation of the words had begun the process, but reading the actual command had made her a helpless slave to her own raw desire. Shifting in her executive chair, she tried to ease the nagging ache in her genitals. Squeezing her thighs together produced a thin spike of pleasure.<br />
<br />
This, she thought, smiling wryly as she wriggled like a horny teenager, was the reason he so often sent his summons this way. When a letter, or an e mail arrived in the morning, she had the whole day in which to work herself up into a frenzy. It was an additional way of controlling her, she supposed. She was subjected to many long hours of unrequited passion and arousal, which was just as much a torment as what would come later. Even masturbation couldn't help her, although she often succumbed to it several times a day while she was waiting. She would only become stirred again at the slightest thought of him. She would be working on a report, or be in a meeting, and she would suddenly think of his eyes, his narrow hands, or his cock. And she would be ensorcelled all over again: her heart pounding, her soul twisting with the simple fact of his absence, the folds of her sex slick and engorged, throbbing in readiness for his touch. A touch she had to endure so very much before receiving.<br />
<br />
'Damn you,' she whispered, smiling and wondering if she dare stroke herself through her skirt.<br />
<br />
He would know, of course, if she had been playing with herself. He would suspect it, because - as he was fond of telling her - she was wanton and greedy for stimulation; and when he questioned her, she could conceal nothing from him.<br />
<br />
She could almost hear his voice - the blunt question. 'Have you touched yourself today?' <br />
'Yes... Yes, I did,' she would answer, quaking. Oh, how he delighted in wringing that first confession from her.<br />
<br />
'How many times?' His stern eyes would flash.<br />
<br />
'Three times.'<br />
<br />
'And where did you do it? All this wickedness...'<br />
<br />
'Twice in the ladies cloakroom, and once at my desk, when I was alone.'<br />
<br />
'And did you climax each time?'<br />
<br />
'Y... Yes.'<br />
<br />
'And when you were in the cloakroom? Did you remove your panties, or keep them on?'<br />
<br />
'I took them off... Both times.'<br />
<br />
'And these times when you took off your panties... How did you do it?' He would be aroused by now, and she would feel him behind her, pressed against her, his cock hard and imperious through his clothes. He would push it against her naked bottom, or her thigh. 'Did you stand? Sit? Crouch? Kneel? Squat?' Emphasis would be on the last word, the most demeaning.<br />
<br />
'Squat,' she might say, even if she hadn't. He enjoyed her verbal pictures, and the lewder they were, the more they entertained him.<br />
<br />
'Both times?'<br />
<br />
'Yes...'<br />
<br />
'And did -'<br />
<br />
The sudden ringing of the phone destroyed her fantasy.<br />
<br />
'Hell's teeth!' she hissed reaching for it.<br />
<br />
The call was routine, but it reminded her of work to be done, and other phone calls that were required of her in turn. Still aroused, still wet between her legs, she slid her treasured message into its envelope, then into her briefcase, and prepared to return to the tasks and challenges of the real world. The continuum of dark pleasure would always be waiting for her because in a sense she could never really leave it. There was only a thin, illusory membrane between it and the mundane existence, and all it needed was a thought or word to break through...<br />
<br />
The day, surprisingly, went well. Without false modesty, Joanna knew she was genuinely good at what she did, and her awareness of the letter secreted in her case seemed to act like a natural 'upper', sharpening her judgement and granting clarity to her thoughts. But it was late by the time she left the building, and she was glad of her customary chauffeured car to take her home through the hassle of the city.<br />
<br />
Her apartment, as ever, was a haven of peace and tranquillity, its quiet orderliness preparing her for the long, ritualised hours ahead. Putting away her coat and her attaché case was like putting away the lesser part of herself, to leave a goddess, complete and shining, to wait in readiness. Feeling her excitement rise anew, she poured herself a drink. She only ever took one drink before he arrived, but even that was a part of the event itself, the first gathering and honing of her senses.<br />
<br />
Sipping her gin, she relished its silvery bite on her tongue. It was a clean taste, but pungent, and it seemed to focus her rather than befuddle or inebriate. She took it with her into the bathroom, taking mouthfuls now and again as she undressed and showered, and went about her complex and very thorough toilette. When both the spirit, and her cleansing were done, she rinsed the glass, then returned naked to her bedroom.<br />
<br />
In her long mirror, she studied herself critically, looking for any defect or shortcoming which might displease her coming visitor. She found nothing serious enough to worry about, but decided that she would soon need her hair cutting. Her blonde curls were very soft and very fluffy when freshly washed; relatively short still, and looking somewhat ingenuous in the way they clustered around her ears, and across her brow. How now Shirley Temple? she thought, grinning at her reflection and wondering if America's sweetheart had ever anticipated what was now taking such grip on her senses. <br />
<br />
Still assessing herself, she ran her hands over her full, bare breasts, her gently curved stomach, and her long, well-toned thighs. Her flesh, all over her body, was firm and resilient. Smooth. Unblemished. A perfect canvas on which to paint his whims. She turned, pirouetting on her toes, and looked over her shoulder at the rounds of her bottom. At one time she would have said they were too round, too ample; but now she knew different. Her lover was an artist who sometimes favoured broad strokes. He needed space, space on her body to express himself. Reaching round, she cupped herself, cradling the sleek, peachy lobes in her hands. She experienced a frisson of fear, and pleasure, imagining how her buttocks would look and feel in an hour or two.<br />
<br />
The carriage clock on top of the bookshelf chimed the quarter hour, and shook Joanna from her narcissistic musings. He was always prompt, and there were preparations yet to be made. Nude still, she sat at her dressing table and applied a little make-up. Just eyes really, a touch of fawn eye-shadow, smudged kohl pencil, brown-black, a coat of mascara; all waterproof. She would cry before long, and runnels of paint on her cheeks were so unflattering. Her mouth she slicked with gloss, and this was colourless; there would be kisses a-plenty amongst all the groans and tears.<br />
<br />
The making up took but a moment, but the next stage might take a little longer. She crossed to the wardrobes that covered the entire length of one wall, and pushed open a sliding door.<br />
<br />
So much to choose from; so many beautiful things, all bought, but not all chosen by him.<br />
<br />
At first, Joanna had felt uncomfortable with the many gifts he gave her. She was used to paying her own way in the world, and facing the consequences of her almost childlike extravagance; so to have so much luxury lavished upon her was an affront to her independence. Her cock-eyed and rather accommodating form of feminism. But she had soon come to see that she earned every penny of her lover's largesse. Earned it in a way that would have found most other women wanting. Each exquisite item in this wardrobe had been paid for with her anguished cries, her sweat, her impassioned writhing over many, endless-seeming hours.<br />
<br />
She pulled out an elegant lace-encrusted nightdress in ivory pure silk. The light yet substantial fabric seemed to flow over her fingers, bringing a flood of sweetly poignant memories in its wake. He had presented this gown to her, that first time, in France, when he had revealed himself to her as he really was. She had worn it in bed, while he had made love to her, and she could still feel it sliding over the throbbing heat in her skin as he thrust deeply and joyfully into her sex. She had still been wearing it later, when he had leapt from that bed, his flesh still scented with her fluids and her perfume, and knelt on the floor before her, then offered up his own naked body just as she had offered hers, earlier, to him. Nostalgia curved her lips as she considered the lovely gown.<br />
<br />
Her lover could take it just as well as he could dish it out, she thought, smoothing her fingers again over the silk. This egalitarianism was one of his most endearing qualities.<br />
<br />
The ivory gown was superb, but somehow it didn't fit her mood. She replaced it on the rack, and flicked further along the serried line of garments, some of which were more exotic than others.<br />
<br />
Finally, she came to an old favourite, perhaps the least sultry item in her collection, but full - despite that - of its own particular symbolism. Aware that time was passing, passing, she shrugged quickly into it, then hurried to the mirror.<br />
<br />
The innocent, curly-top image was reinforced by her choice; a long, voluminous, Victorian nightie in the softest of unbleached cotton. Its only trim was a network of fine smocking at the yolk, and a thin flounce around the cuffs and the collar. Her fingers trembled as she fastened the tiny mother of pearl buttons. There were only moments left before the pre appointed time, and her lover was never, ever late.<br />
<br />
Her feet bare, she scurried around the room, making the finally adjustments to the decor. She turned out all lights but the Tiffany lamp by the bedside, creating soft pools of coloured radiance to illuminate the room. She lit an aromatherapy candle to provide a perfume for their diversions; the odour of patchouli soon filled the expectant silence. Savouring the exotic vapours, she opened the top drawer of her dressing table, and took out certain implements which she laid out on the bed, their stark nature quite at odds with the satin counterpane. Her lover would appreciate the provision of a choice.<br />
<br />
Finally, she stacked two of the plump, lace trimmed and embroidered pillows from the head of the bed down at its foot, and feeling almost dizzy, she laid herself face down across them, her bare toes just touching the Persian carpet. With as much grace as she was able, she hitched up the long flowing skirt of her nightdress and folded it as best she could into a roll that rested above her waist. At moments like these, she occasionally wished she had accepted his offer of her own personal maid, to help her prepare for him; but there was a certain magic to these moments of solitary reflection. This heavy, almost charged time of waiting. She also knew that if there was ever anything particularly elaborate that needed doing, she could always call on her dear, dear Cynthia. Her handsome friend would be more than happy to do anything that required hands-on contact.<br />
<br />
Breathing deeply, Joanna tried to centre herself, to assemble the well of composure that would see her through what lay ahead. She could feel the coolness of the air against her naked bottom and thighs, and she relished it while she could. Soon there would be only heat. She folded her arms on the counterpane, encircling her head, her cheek against the satin. He might put her in restraints, later, when he really hit his stride.<br />
<br />
There wasn't much time to settle herself, because a second or two later, she heard a series of small sounds which culminated in footsteps outside her bedroom door. She could hardly breath as the handle turned, and the door swung open. There was a pause, then a measured, near silent tread approached her on the thick-piled carpet, and a potent presence filled every corner of the room.<br />
<br />
A cool, narrow hand settled on the curve of her right buttock, and into the stillness, she softly said:<br />
<br />
'I'm ready...'<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;"><b>Here are the buying links! </b></span><br />
<br />
<b>Print</b><br />
<br />
<b>Amazon</b> :: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0352347856/?tag=wendywootton0e">US</a> :: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/0352347856/ref=nosim?tag=wendywootton">UK</a> :: <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/dp/0352347856">CA</a><br />
<br />
<b>Also from</b> :: <a href="https://www.waterstones.com/book/master-of-the-game/portia-da-costa/9780352347855" title="Waterstones">Waterstones</a> and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/master-of-the-game-portia-da-costa/1122804586?ean=9780352347855" title="Barnes and Noble">Barnes and Noble</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Digital [as Continuum at some vendors]</b><br />
<br />
<b>Amazon</b> :: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B003JMEPPC/?tag=wendywootton0e" title="Amazon.com">US</a> :: <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B003JMEPPC/ref=nosim?tag=wendywootton" title="Amazon.co.uk">UK</a> :: <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/dp/B003JMEPPC" title="Buy from Amazon.ca">CA</a> :: <a amazon.com.au="" buy="" from="" href="http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B003JMEPPC">AU</a><br />
<br />
<b>iBooks</b> :: <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/master-of-the-game/id1037290424?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4" title="US">US</a> :: <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/master-of-the-game/id1037290424?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4" title="UK">UK</a> :: <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/ca/book/master-of-the-game/id1037290424?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4" title="CA">CA</a> :: <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/au/book/master-of-the-game/id1037290424?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4" title="AU">AU</a><br />
<br />
<b>Also from</b> :: <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/master-of-the-game-7" title="">Kobo</a> :: <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/master-of-the-game-portia-da-costa/1122804586?ean=9780352347855" title="Barnes and Noble">Nook</a> :: <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/master-of-the-game-7" title="">Kobo</a> :: <a href="http://www.nook.com/gb/ebooks/continuum-by-portia-da-costa/9780753527191" title="Nook UK">Nook UK</a><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb970McxPNSfsU58ndEajlYI_4zL50LFUeog6D8Xt5_5jR7veSqLKuRYFaOG4NxyJiQt9z6p_AttkMzLmm1eZ8wQkPf8I4dWa8LbtMw2Th3fFKSRKmqMN8lTenQzohyphenhyphen-liaWjaUSsw21g/s1600/s-l225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb970McxPNSfsU58ndEajlYI_4zL50LFUeog6D8Xt5_5jR7veSqLKuRYFaOG4NxyJiQt9z6p_AttkMzLmm1eZ8wQkPf8I4dWa8LbtMw2Th3fFKSRKmqMN8lTenQzohyphenhyphen-liaWjaUSsw21g/s1600/s-l225.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Original and best cover, IMHO!</div>
<br />Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-87515631492361104552014-08-02T12:21:00.000+01:002014-08-14T12:22:54.471+01:00HOW TO SEDUCE A BILLIONAIRE - unedited excerpt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMZ-eGzzmFI9iNfXoikHzt6-ej7gIPUafFrRTOz8-e1ACIiMIgS7Anbz1Pj-uETpw_C-1NGJ6zuppv_70mgYlJE01m1x5YXFbpl5ol2yV7U_W8dejG0B4yNdDNDegNy-Z4QY4EjUx4DH8/s1600/seduced_comingsoon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMZ-eGzzmFI9iNfXoikHzt6-ej7gIPUafFrRTOz8-e1ACIiMIgS7Anbz1Pj-uETpw_C-1NGJ6zuppv_70mgYlJE01m1x5YXFbpl5ol2yV7U_W8dejG0B4yNdDNDegNy-Z4QY4EjUx4DH8/s1600/seduced_comingsoon.gif" /></a></div>
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<br />
Here's a first peek at <a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/seducedby.html">HOW TO SEDUCE A BILLIONAIRE</a>, my new Black Lace novel to be published in January 2015.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>Not your average billionaire and the virgin next door...</i><br />
<i> </i> <br />
Twenty-nine year old virgin Jess Lockhart has had to put her life on hold due to family commitments, but now it's time to break out and start enjoying sex and love. Trickily for her, years of artistic dreaming and fantasising about her first ever lover have given her impossibly high standards where men are concerned. She's not about to do the deed with just any old male that crosses her path. He has to be Mr Right, or at the very least Mr Sex, right for now, and a super special, superior example of his gender. Nothing less will do...<br />
<br />
Ellis McKenna has all the credentials to be Jess's 'Dream Lover'. He's gorgeous, accomplished, capable and a fabulous lover, and he also just happens to be the scion of a family whose international assets can be counted in the billions. He's perfect Mr Right material, apart from one thing... the thing that makes him Mr Wrong for any woman wanting a relationship. Ellis is a grieving widower who's sworn never to love again. He wants sex, yes, and plenty of it, as a way to forget his pain... but his deeper heart is locked away by regret and sorrow.<br />
<br />
Can this unusual couple put aside their issues and enjoy a simple seduction? Or will life's complexities put a spanner in the works?<br />
<br />
To be published by Black Lace Books, February 2015<br />
<br />
<b>Excerpt</b><br />
<br />
She walked toward him like a goddess, her head held high, her eyes clear and confident. If he’d been a real dom, he’d have reprimanded her, but he was just a man playing an erotic game, for diversion, with a beautiful and exceptional woman.<br />
<br />
‘Stand very still,’ he instructed her when she reached him. He could smell a faint whiff of her light and delectable floral toilette water, and it almost made him sway with desire. Almost made him grab her and hug her and kiss her and sweep her up in his arms, to carry her to bed and simply and delightfully make love to her.<br />
<br />
But, he’d promised her an experience. Something to add to her repertoire, so he’d better deliver on his promised ‘masterful’ act.<br />
<br />
He looked down into her eyes, and for a moment, she looked back, unfazed. But then, like the good submissive of fiction, she lowered her gaze. Respectfully? Well, a good approximation of it. She was a damn good actress when she wanted to be. But he’d seem the ghost of a grin she’d let slip before she’d looked down.<br />
<br />
‘You’re a very wayward submissive, Ms Lockhart. You don’t seem to have any respect for authority at all. I was going to allow you a glass of champagne before we started… to calm your nerves… but I’m not sure now that you deserve it.’<br />
<br />
Goddamn, the bubbly wasn’t for her, it was for <i>him</i>!<br />
<br />
She didn’t respond, or even move a muscle, but he knew somehow that she would love a glass of champagne. In the brief time they’d been together, she’d taken quite a liking to it, and in a cool, detached, almost melancholy moment, he resolved that when they parted, he would send her a case of whatever marque she preferred, on a regular basis.<br />
<br />
<i>Enough of that. The moment is now. There’s no future… and no past. Just us. Playing.</i><br />
<br />
‘However, I’m feeling magnanimous, so I think we will have a little champagne, first, before I start touching you.’<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
Hope you like the sound of that? Let me know what you think with a comment... :) Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-84275670737292915042013-04-28T12:31:00.001+01:002013-04-29T11:49:01.525+01:00THE ACCIDENTAL MISTRESS - new excerpt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/accidentalmistress.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5P4xSVnsCiBg5AeaHToHgwHC9yQSqQhrVucbTEJCAApLykriu8goTYK28d7Q97xBN4mhLid1A2lqW_IP31D66O4njZjj_LDRFq4QNOQzHy9PVTSIr3EJj7Z4Jh9OkNLaAU819FXUZOGI/s320/mistress_big.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="NovelTimes" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br />
In this excerpt of <a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/accidentalmistress.html">THE ACCIDENTAL MISTRESS</a>, <b>Lizzie</b> had just admitted to <b>John</b> 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...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/accidentalmistress.html">The Accidental Mistress</a> <span style="text-indent: 0cm;">is book #2 in <b>The Accidental Trilogy</b>.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
Put a pin in it, she’d said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
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.</div>
<div class="NovelTimes" style="text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<i>I love you.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘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.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br />
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<i>Maybe I do love you,
my darling? Even if I can’t say it…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘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 <i>were</i>
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘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.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘Honey, I’m home!’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
Brent Westhead, home from his travels, and heading for the
room where they were.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘Shit!’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘Shit!’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
With a double thump, they landed on the rug, tangled
together, already fumbling to put Lizzie’s clothes to rights.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
As a rectangle of light appeared in the corner of the room,
she was just about decent. If somewhat dishevelled…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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.’<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘Oops,’ whispered Lizzie, her eyes merry in the lamplight,
and her face rosy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
‘Oops, indeed,’ echoed John … then he laughed too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<i>Caught making out on
the settee, like a teenager. Whatever next? <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
But as they stood up, and shook out the creases, he felt
strangely light and young, renewed by Lizzie.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
<br /></div>
<div class="NovelTimes">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/accidentalmistress.html">THE ACCIDENTAL MISTRESS</a> will be published in August 2013, followed by <a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/accidentalbride.html">THE ACCIDENTAL BRIDE</a> in October 2013.<br />
<br />
More information here.<br />
<br />
Pre-order from <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0352347619/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=0352347619">Amazon.co.uk</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0352347619/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0352347619&linkCode=as2&tag=wendywootton0e">Amazon.com</a><br />
<br />
Lizzie and John's story began in <a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/accidental.html">THE ACCIDENTAL CALL GIRL</a></div>
Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-72074331297012784802013-03-20T21:35:00.000+00:002013-03-20T21:35:56.308+00:00LESSONS AND LOVERS - hot snippet!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7UL9Hw7Uei-r11Sd8HWEgZdBXsfRrEXiwBrIXTcD4aOtVRKmKgm5ec4FBsnQmtKCgbmDRldfuThHblcv_5QMskCPwFSXO66q70j0mlBYfKOuq3VdfkqTTKfc9WKhi5texTQgbmaAJ0A8/s1600/lessons_big.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7UL9Hw7Uei-r11Sd8HWEgZdBXsfRrEXiwBrIXTcD4aOtVRKmKgm5ec4FBsnQmtKCgbmDRldfuThHblcv_5QMskCPwFSXO66q70j0mlBYfKOuq3VdfkqTTKfc9WKhi5texTQgbmaAJ0A8/s320/lessons_big.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>LESSON AND LOVERS - an erotic romance</b><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>What happens when a perfectly civilized sexual arrangement turns into a minefield of turbulent emotion?</i><br />
<div class="TimesNRstyle">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TimesNRstyle">
<br />
<span style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">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.</span></div>
<div class="TimesNRstyle">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TimesNRstyle">
<span style="text-indent: 28.9pt;"><br />
</span> <span style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">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. </span><br />
<br />
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…<br />
<br />
<b>Excerpt:</b></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
“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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
<i>Are you even going to turn up?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
<i>If only I could see your eyes.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
The plea remained silent though as he lifted the bedcover and took his place beside her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
<i>If only I could see what’s in your heart.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
But the moonbeams weren’t sufficient to reveal him and his face and his amazing blue eyes remained frustratingly shadowed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
<i>I must ask him! I must know how he feels!</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
<i>Starr, what is it? Do you love me…or hate me?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="BookStyle" style="text-indent: 28.9pt;">
Was that true emotion he was expressing? Or simply the physical, as ever, overwhelming him? Exhaustion overcame her before she was able to determine…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/lessons2.html">More information here</a><br />
<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-45043000811073683692013-03-08T12:56:00.001+00:002013-03-08T12:56:54.855+00:00The Accidental Mistress - new snippet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbkIiFpSzYwsWeb63FO4OXhWAuntqjVDZmpC4euysAqG3RmqrC6Yztf3w0NEQjdMJKO9O3JAGIvk9zc4kEMmXyS2EprqKHPkMhGylilQ6JE8JKFVozfLHJWqCyE0kQBN3fEjjCu2ACCA/s1600/accidentalmistress_300h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbkIiFpSzYwsWeb63FO4OXhWAuntqjVDZmpC4euysAqG3RmqrC6Yztf3w0NEQjdMJKO9O3JAGIvk9zc4kEMmXyS2EprqKHPkMhGylilQ6JE8JKFVozfLHJWqCyE0kQBN3fEjjCu2ACCA/s1600/accidentalmistress_300h.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
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...<br />
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***</div>
<i>Unedited excerpt...</i><br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
‘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.’<br />
<br />
‘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.’<br />
<br />
‘Not really…’<br />
<br />
‘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 <em>lot</em> of rooms.’ He held out his hand, palm up, but it was more a gesture of command than supplication.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
‘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.’<br />
<br />
Oh, he certainly had! <br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
Either way, he was sporting the most sumptuous bulge now.<br />
<br />
‘Lizzie.’ Her name was softly spoken; a tantalising warning.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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****</div>
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<a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/accidentalmistress.html">The Accidental Mistress</a> will be published by <b>Black Lace</b> in <b>August 2013</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/accidentalmistress.html">More information here</a></div>
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Please spread the word, and let me know what you think in a comment.</div>
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Many thanks! :)</div>
Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-86149953072405532042012-07-07T15:08:00.000+01:002012-07-07T18:17:21.402+01:00Meet the Marquis...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2t35imuQOy4LzSQiMFAeRJeg-vOleMGZ0L4mEqDfvTAIeAK_zMyTd_7RGteNghHfMCp_jtMZuoIf_MLxhAmXxFBXZ_Ej2na1OZGDuHdW1xecdsufE6dV_hhxcm9GFVZnfVvkW8GHT77A/s1600/ChanceOfALifetime800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2t35imuQOy4LzSQiMFAeRJeg-vOleMGZ0L4mEqDfvTAIeAK_zMyTd_7RGteNghHfMCp_jtMZuoIf_MLxhAmXxFBXZ_Ej2na1OZGDuHdW1xecdsufE6dV_hhxcm9GFVZnfVvkW8GHT77A/s320/ChanceOfALifetime800.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/chance.html">CHANCE OF A LIFETIME - Portia Da Costa</a></span><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
---------<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I tremble.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
It flatters the Marquis too, not that he needs it. He looks stunning.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
“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...<br />
<br />
“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.<br />
<br />
“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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I’ve dressed carefully.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I aim to please...<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
He sits so elegantly, even though he’s totally at ease. Long legs out in front of him, booted feet crossed.<br />
<br />
Boots?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And I get mostly the same feeling from the rest of him.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And not just his nipples.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Bless him, he’s made as much of an effort for me as I have for him. Another reason to worship and adore him.<br />
<br />
---------<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/chance.html">CHANCE OF A LIFETIME</a> is part of the <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=12+shades+of+surrender&x=0&y=0">12 Shades of Surrender</a> promotion by <a href="http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/books/12-Shades-of-Surrender.htm">Mills and Boon</a>.<br />
<br />
Available from <a href="http://tinyurl.com/6kp3pe">eHarlequin</a>, <a href="http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/books/Spice/chance-of-a-lifetime-ebook.htm">Mills & Boon</a>, <a href="http://www.booksonboard.com/index.php?BODY=viewbook&BOOK=335755">Books on Board</a>,<a href="http://www.fictionwise.com/eBooks/eBook75354.htm?cache">Fictionwise</a>, <a href="http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-chanceofalifetime-12077-144.html">All Romance eBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.diesel-ebooks.com/cgi-bin/item/parent-9781426824739/Chance-of-a-Lifetime-eBook.html">Diesel eBook Store</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B003YUCP56/wendywootton">Amazon Kindle UK</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003YUCP56?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B003YUCP56">Amazon Kindle</a> and <a href="http://bit.ly/bSrNg">Sony Ebook Store</a>.Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-11112764272951555792012-03-16T15:58:00.000+00:002012-03-16T15:58:08.569+00:00FORBIDDEN TREASURES - excerpt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Blurb:<br />
<br />
When Alice Porter finds a chest full of vintage curiosa at an antique market, she little realizes how her discovery of the forgotten treasures of an Edwardian disciplinarian will change her life. The sexy hoard includes a punishment ledger and a well used rattan cane, and the bygone items intrigue her husband Julian too.<br />
<br />
Sharing and experimenting with the writings and the wicked implement, the lovers begin a voyage of forbidden sensuality that shocks and thrills them both, revealing dark secrets from Julian's past and bringing the two of them closer together than they've ever been before. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Excerpt:<br />
<br />
<i>You have done this before, haven't you?</i><br />
<br />
For a moment, Alice was distracted, unfocused. Who was the woman? Who had he punished?<br />
<br />
Then Julian stroked the inside of her wrist with a fingertip, making everything right again, with a secret touch hidden in the game. He was with her now. He'd always be with her. This was what mattered, not the past.<br />
<br />
Feeling as ungainly and gangling as a naughty, coltish girl, Alice did her best to obey him, almost tripping over the tangled clothing around her ankles. When she did get settled, she had the most precarious fear that she was going to topple head first off her husband's lap and onto the carpet. But instead, he held her firmly with a securing hand on her back, whilst presumably he studied the contours of her bottom.<br />
<br />
"Ready then?" Both voice and fingertips were gentle as they cruised her bare skin. His exploration made her quiver again. "Do you understand why I have to do this?"<br />
<br />
It was as if they were performing a ritual, each in their role, each serious, but also humming with desire. Alice nodded, and muttered a "yes", while her heart pounded and her mind filling with a very complex understanding indeed, a comprehension that went far beyond the simple shadow-play of punishment for misbehavior.<br />
<br />
"Ouch!" she yelped as the first smack fell on her right buttock, and all her preconceptions about what it might have felt like came crashing down with Julian's hand.<br />
<br />
<i>Bloody hell, it hurts. It really hurts. I thought it was just going to feel like a gentle tap.</i><br />
<br />
Moisture filled her eyes as a second, even crisper blow landed. Involuntarily, she groaned, squirming and shuffling on Julian's lap. <br />
<br />
Dear God, how it smarted. How it stung. As more smacks descended in a fast and steady rhythm, it didn't take long before <i>all</i> of Alice's cheeks were flaming. Her dangling face was pink as a peony with a blend of embarrassment and excitement, and her bottom was so hot and throbbing that she was sure its entire surface was red and blotchy.<br />
<br />
<i>How have you learnt to do this? You must have picked it up somewhere. Don't tell me it's pure instinct. You </i>know<i> this.</i><br />
<br />
The thoughts bobbed in her brain as her husband belabored her with skill and vigor. He was patterning the spanks around her cheeks, forming meticulous, overlapping circles and leaving no inch of flesh free of their fiery coverage. It was a master class and when her buttocks were pink and roasted, he tipped her body further forward and then aimed a volley of intensive wallops at the delicate under-hang; a zone so tender and thin‑skinned that it made her squeal in a way that she would have found hilarious in some other circumstance.<br />
<br />
"Now, now, my dearest," Julian said, his voice sounding like the very essence of Edwardian authority as he continued to spank and spank and spank, "Don't make such a fuss. This is good for you, you know." <br />
<br />
<br />
Available from <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/59992">Smashwords</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00513NCVU/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399349&creativeASIN=B00513NCVU">Amazon Kindle US</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00513NCVU/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00513NCVU">Amazon Kindle UK</a>, <a href="http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-forbiddentreasures-548746-144.html">All Romance eBooks</a>, <a href="http://ebookstore.sony.com/ebook/portia-da-costa/forbidden-treasures/_/R-400000000000000390502">Sony Ebooks</a>, <a href="http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Forbidden-Treasures/book-8K3Ir_hdFUWJI3uIv8A0Hg/page1.html">Kobo Ebooks</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/forbidden-treasures-portia-da-costa/1102795040?ean=2940011301711">Barnes and Noble Nook</a> and <a href="http://www.diesel-ebooks.com/item/SW00000059992/Da-Costa-Portia-Forbidden-Treasures/1.html">Diesel eBooks</a>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-65935526228520511292012-03-09T14:27:00.000+00:002012-03-09T14:27:18.664+00:00POWER OF THREE - excerpt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's no fun being dumped almost at the altar, but newly not engaged Laurie decides to make the best of things and enjoy her honeymoon at an exotic Caribbean resort all on her own. The plan is to lie in the sun, read a book, do a bit of birdwatching and exploring... anything to take her mind off her rat of an ex fiance and the bimbo he got pregnant.<br />
<br />
But it's not easy to forget about love and sex when everyone around her at the resort is getting in on. Pretty soon, she's using her binoculars to spy on creatures a bit higher up the evolutionary scale than birds - mainly the hot threesome in one of the adjacent cabanas, and the gorgeously hunky gay couple who are also staying just across the courtyard.<br />
<br />
These two delicious men especially fire her senses and make her forget her romantic woes, and when she realises that they're watching her while she's watching them, what else is a girl to do but accept the invitation of a lifetime, and become part of a threesome herself?<br />
<br />
But what if her luscious faux honeymoon menage is only the beginning of better and hotter things to come?
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Excerpt</b><br />
<br />
<i>Laurie has accepted an invitation to dinner with gorgeous Ed and Denny, the two men she observed making love the night before. Very quickly, she realizes they're both kindly and sympathetic to her plight... and also that they're eager and happy to pleasure her, as well as each other! </i><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
But this was
completely different. A desire and an adventure she'd never be able to overlook
or forget. If only she had the boldness to reach out and grab it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<i>Do you dare?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<i>Yes, I do! I do!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
Reaching up, she
dug her fingers into Denny's silky curls, and opened her mouth to his, meeting
his tongue when it plunged in, warm and hungry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
<i>Yes!</i> Not two but three silent voices
seemed to chorus the word; those of the men, cheering her on, and her own inner
voice proud of her own courage.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
Denny kissed hard,
kissed hungry, kissed dominant. Again, savoring his onslaught, Laurie almost
wanted to laugh at the misleading quality of appearances. His fey, pale clothes
and golden looks concealed the heart of a predator, and even the fact that he'd
"received" last night probably only meant he'd demanded that his
partner service his needs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
He held on tight
to her, a hand at the nape of her neck, another on her shoulder, making her
accept his kiss in a thrilling, primal way. He tasted of wine and honey and new
beginnings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
And all the time,
Ed was at work too, at first gently kissing her hand as if it were a holy
artifact, but then, suddenly, on the move. As Denny kissed and subdued her, Ed
began exploring. Still kneeling, he settled his hands on her thighs, one each,
on the outside surfaces, slowly sliding them upwards, then down again, and then
up, tantalizing her. Laurie sighed into Denny's mouth, feeling the urge to open
her legs, and lift her bottom, to allow Ed more access.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .3in;">
"Good
girl," whispered Denny, his lips starting to roam too, as he gently pushed
her so she was leaning against the woven back of the settee. He kissed her
brow, her cheek, and a sensitive spot beneath her ear, then tracked down the
side of her neck, on and on down until he nipped at a spot just above her collarbone.
As his sharp teeth plagued her, Ed's hands were down below, sliding between her
thighs, urging her to open her legs, and to open her heart and self to the pair
of them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.3in;">
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
"Relax,"
urged Denny, still nibbling. Laurie could feel his fingers at work at the nape
of her neck, then before she had time to stop him -- not that she wanted to --
he unfastened her halter top. Peeling it down, he exposed her breasts in her
flimsy strapless bra.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><b>POWER OF THREE</b> is a</span>vailable from <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/60897">Smashwords</a>, <a href="http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-powerofthree-549098-144.html">All Romance eBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Power-of-Three/book-lFh62LY87UaaczNqZD9WkQ/page1.html">Kobo</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0051VEVYE/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399349&creativeASIN=B0051VEVYE">Amazon Kindle US</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0051VEVYE/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B0051VEVYE">Amazon Kindle UK</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/power-of-three-portia-da-costa/1103234063?ean=2940011309076">Barnes and Noble Nook</a>, <a href="http://ebookstore.sony.com/ebook/portia-da-costa/power-of-three/_/R-400000000000000405754">Sony Ebooks</a> and <a href="http://www.diesel-ebooks.com/item/SW00000060897/Da-Costa-Portia-Power-of-Three/1.html">Diesel eBooks</a>
<br />
<br />
<b>However... </b><br />
<br />
If you want some more <b>Portia</b> at a bargain price, <b>POWER OF THREE</b> is also available as part of a value anthology, along with three other stories! So if you fancy a couple of short erotic tales and BDSM erotic romance novella as a side order with your menage, please try <b>EROTIC ESCAPADES</b> instead for just 39 cents [or 32p] extra! ;)<br />
<br />
Available from <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/66602">Smashwords</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/erotic-escapades-stories-of-sizzling-sex-portia-da-costa/1108648430?ean=2940011373756&itm=1&usri=erotic+escapades">Barnes and Noble</a>, <a href="http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Erotic-Escapades-stories-sizzling-sex/book-gnQIiGPO_kWF8V4jfRo3_g/page1.html">Kobo</a>, <a href="http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-eroticescapadesstoriesofsizzlingsex-557570-144.html">All Romance eBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00546ERHM/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00546ERHM">Amazon.com</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00546ERHM/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=theromanticnovel&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00546ERHM">Amazon.co.uk</a>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-17137372168897755422012-02-29T16:16:00.000+00:002012-02-29T16:16:00.706+00:00IN SEBASTIAN'S HANDS - excerpt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVwnUDSspa4SqmnyuAe0eK4bXlACVYrdHOzpL2z0R78BHXBwlrilg1wrIwWuXe5G1qYoNs-b_bopExLTnN-CaiiSbHYIEZbQ-igcTaTmUzLV4MvdE29JKFlKxJkjAQlemS84av4Gijpc/s1600/sebshandsbig200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVwnUDSspa4SqmnyuAe0eK4bXlACVYrdHOzpL2z0R78BHXBwlrilg1wrIwWuXe5G1qYoNs-b_bopExLTnN-CaiiSbHYIEZbQ-igcTaTmUzLV4MvdE29JKFlKxJkjAQlemS84av4Gijpc/s400/sebshandsbig200.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<i>A BDSM love story in three acts </i><br />
<br />
When Megan meets Sebastian Holmwood at a fancy dress party, she little realizes how her life is going to change. Sebastian is a beautiful and unusual man with an irresistible dark mystique about him. The glint in his silver blue eyes, and the velvet rasp of his deep baritone voice make her want to do crazy things. Suddenly she finds herself longing to play perverse erotic games almost beyond her imagination. She wants Sebastian to spank her, touch her, dominate her, take her over in every way possible... and she knows that with him, the pleasure she earns will blow her mind.<br />
<br />
Sebastian Holmwood is a dominant master who's never quite found his perfect submissive... until he meets Megan, dressed as Little Bo Peep, and carrying a crook that looks suspiciously like a punishment cane. Something about Megan's blend of naivety and mischief, and her bold willingness to follow his lead, speak to his dominant soul as a never before, and he knows he won't rest until he's spanked her and much, much more.
<br />
<br />
<b>Excerpt:</b><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
Mozart played on
softly, but all of a sudden I was in a new and surreal dimension. Sebastian
Holmwood could control me with the very slightest gesture, and as he walked
smoothly towards the settee, then sat down just a yard or so away from me, I
turned to face him, my head meekly bowed. He was lower than me, seated whilst I
was standing, but in all things he had the upper hand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"So, Megan
Chambers, do you want to understand? Our friends downstairs are woefully
ignorant. You know that, don't you?" He reached out, took hold of both of
my hands, and then held them in one of his. He let his free hand slide lightly
down my hip, tracing its approximate shape through my costume's fluffy
petticoats. Sensing that he required it, I looked up and met his eyes, realizing
he was a little older, and far wiser, than I'd originally thought he was. I
nodded, knowing instinctively what I'd let myself in for, and feeling both fear
and curiosity in equal parts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"Good,"
he said with a thoughtful smile, then let his hand slip beneath my skirt and
petticoats. "Are you wearing anything beneath these?" He plucked at
the long, lace trimmed mock Victorian pantaloons that peeked out from beneath
my hem, then flattened his hand, slipped it upwards, and cupped the rounded
cheek of my bottom.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"N...
No," I quavered as he squeezed. I'd expected to get the costume grubby at
the party, and as I'd be laundering the whole thing anyway, I'd decided to be
naughty and go without any extra knickers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"Excellent!"
His eyes gleamed. "Now lift up all these skirts up for me. There's a good
girl." He released my hands and nodded to my Bo Peep dress and all the
frippery beneath it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"But..."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
Sebastian didn't
speak, but his cool old-fashioned look spoke volumes. Trembling, I reached for
my hem, then hauled up my skirts and held the whole lot in a haphazard bunch at
my waist.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"Back and
front," he specified. I obeyed with a graceless scrabble, and then closed
my eyes as he gripped my pantaloons, whipping them down to my knees with one
smooth, efficient jerk.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"Lovely,"
he said softly. I could almost feel the weight of his gaze on the curly
triangle of my sex, like a radiant therapy that made my hidden folds heat.
"Now turn around for me."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
Shuffling, I
presented my bottom, keenly aware of its plump, curvaceous shape.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"Perfect."
His voice was a whisper and I heard the leather upholstery creak as he shifted
position. I was quite disappointed that he didn't try to touch me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"Turn
again."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
I complied.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"Open your
eyes."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
Again, I did as I
was told, aware that my whole face was one big blush.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
Sebastian was
sitting comfortably on the sofa, his posture strong-looking, his knees spread a
little apart. "Do you know what to do?" he asked. The gleam in his
eyes was like starlight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
I bit my lip. I
knew, but I couldn't say it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
"Come on.
It's easy. Come across my knee. I won't bite you."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
I wasn't worried
about him biting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
Slowly,
cautiously, I laid myself across his lap, letting his hands guide me into
exactly the right position. My balance seemed precarious, and I felt vulnerable
and dizzy, with my head down and my bottom rudely up. I couldn't imagine how
I'd let myself get into this pickle. What the devil had I been thinking of? One
minute I'd been flirting lightly with a moderately attractive man; and the next
I was face down across his knee, about to let him spank my bare buttocks. How
could I have been so reckless, so foolish? How could I have been so completely
insane?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .4in;">
The answer was
that against all reason, I trusted Sebastian Holmwood; perhaps more than I'd
ever trusted anyone in my life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="line-height: 150%;">
And I moaned like
a wanton, as if it had been all my idea in the first place, when Sebastian
started touching me.</div>
<br />
<br />
IN SEBASTIAN'S HANDS is available from <a href="http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-insebastian039shands-677661-144.html">All Romance eBooks</a>, <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/130128">Smashwords</a>, <a href="http://www.diesel-ebooks.com/index.php?page=item&id=SW00000130128">Diesel Ebooks</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00727XMEU/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=B00727XMEU">Amazon Kindle UK</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00727XMEU/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=217145&creative=399373&creativeASIN=B00727XMEU">Amazon Kindle US</a></div>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-76984299498883277502009-07-07T14:15:00.005+01:002009-07-07T14:23:43.815+01:00NO LONGER FORBIDDEN - mini excerpt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHPvO6bl24zdIYh9SuXR_BBKPnoY3u-Rs7h3dqJTMa9E5-Zz1ZLiyVhxZmeuAJbqEFZKQvn_9G1V8sMV1NqD6adjDR6o2RHhLt4-Ny05dE1laFj5xg7D3onPsHQKgOIQTz1F7QQCas-M/s1600-h/nolongerforbidden_194.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 120px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfHPvO6bl24zdIYh9SuXR_BBKPnoY3u-Rs7h3dqJTMa9E5-Zz1ZLiyVhxZmeuAJbqEFZKQvn_9G1V8sMV1NqD6adjDR6o2RHhLt4-Ny05dE1laFj5xg7D3onPsHQKgOIQTz1F7QQCas-M/s400/nolongerforbidden_194.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355707703887788722" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />Mr. Laurence. Beautiful Mr. Laurence. My fantasy man. Here. Now. For real.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />“Wicked girl,” he purrs, taking control of the kiss and pushing his tongue into my mouth, hot and wild and thrilling.<br /><br /><p>Available from <a href="http://bit.ly/13CBx2">eHarlequin</a>, <a href="http://bit.ly/u6R66">Fictionwise</a>, <a href="http://www.booksonboard.com/index.php?BODY=viewbook&BOOK=466159">Books on Board</a> <a href="http://bit.ly/lQFd7">Sony Ebook Store</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B002F0820S?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B002F0820S">Amazon Kindle</a></p> <span style="font-size:-1;"><strong>No Longer Forbidden</strong> by Portia Da Costa<br /> Harlequin Spice Briefs ® 2009 ISBN </span> <span style="font-size:85%;">9781426836367</span><br /><span style="font-size:-1;"> © 2009 Portia Da Costa<br /> ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher</span>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-13772476192964759962009-04-04T09:57:00.002+01:002009-04-04T10:08:31.386+01:00Another Chance - micro taster<span style="font-weight: bold;">ANOTHER CHANCE</span> is linked to <span style="font-weight: bold;">Chance of a Lifetime</span>.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />-------------------<br /><br />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.<br /><br />William Graves stands in the opening, looking me over with silent watchfulness, apparently unsurprised.<br /><br />Moments tick by and I open my mouth to speak, but he pre-empts me.<br /><br />“Come in out of the cold… I’ve been expecting you.”<br /><br />My pulse races and my desire twists hard. He knows! He knows what I want! And he’s ready…<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Without asking me what I want, he pours generous slugs of Glenmorangie into a couple of cheap glasses, and hands one over.<br /><br />“So how can I help you?”<br /><br />“About last night…”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />He nods, giving me precedence.<br /><br />“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…”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“You’re very direct, aren’t you?” he says softly.Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-32028281693169119122008-03-19T17:42:00.002+00:002008-03-19T17:48:54.407+00:00IN TOO DEEP - NC17 mini taster...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCRndenbDqzJO31Kknt-W337UfmrQf5sdaK5JcMy8tocxPwQnrhqic8O4rscuB5N89ul5RtzwxU8I2TNFrQrAO5Do0COGUxYz4Z22vSW06zjrwZhikWGWyf-h7hNRuQxgyQFlOTGFuiKM/s1600-h/intoodeep_faux.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCRndenbDqzJO31Kknt-W337UfmrQf5sdaK5JcMy8tocxPwQnrhqic8O4rscuB5N89ul5RtzwxU8I2TNFrQrAO5Do0COGUxYz4Z22vSW06zjrwZhikWGWyf-h7hNRuQxgyQFlOTGFuiKM/s400/intoodeep_faux.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179510996090278962" border="0" /></a><br />For connoisseurs of the old UATW scene... Professor Hottie McHotstuff and Gwen the buxom librarian get busy in the mop cupboard...<br /><br />--------<br /><p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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. </span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">And it’s not just with his mouth. </span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">And his fingers.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p>-------------------</o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p><a href="http://www.portiadacosta.com/intoodeep.html">More here</a><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p>And you can pre order it.... :)</o:p></span></p><br />From <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0352341971?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0352341971">Amazon.com</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=wendywootton0e&l=as2&o=1&a=0352341971" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" /> and <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0352341971?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=0352341971">Amazon.co.uk</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=wendywootton&l=as2&o=2&a=0352341971" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" />Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-23255660487292486382007-08-09T13:53:00.000+01:002007-08-09T14:14:04.230+01:00WATCHING THE DETECTIVE - unedited NC17 excerpt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykQ691TiCvZRJZg2jFwOCSNRg2MeqCCiRUCW6yGV7YM3ETYqR_AQ5VX4U3EYuP0WuVaKpsBMRyROvhQOdMQeYvWTF6_WcDBZJxf7cJDIOQz5H2F7noirLVKeUKT2bMntuCPqtoe_D-so/s1600-h/detective_faux.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykQ691TiCvZRJZg2jFwOCSNRg2MeqCCiRUCW6yGV7YM3ETYqR_AQ5VX4U3EYuP0WuVaKpsBMRyROvhQOdMQeYvWTF6_WcDBZJxf7cJDIOQz5H2F7noirLVKeUKT2bMntuCPqtoe_D-so/s400/detective_faux.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5096684731264819154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">WATCHING THE DETECTIVE - Portia Da Costa</span></span><br /><br />Published in the LOVE ON THE DARK SIDE collection of erotic paranormal short stories.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Vicky and her boyfriend Sam are in bed, watching an all night marathon of Vicky's favourite cop show...</span><br /><p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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!</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘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 <i style="">that’ll</i> restore the electricity. </span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">And the credits of my beloved cop show are still a-rolling.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">At least it <span style="font-style: italic;">seems</span> 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. </span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">It’s just The Detective with no sign whatsoever of the rest of the team.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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…</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘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. </span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><i style=""><span lang="EN-GB">What?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘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?’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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 <i style="">isn’t</i> real. How can I <i style="">be</i> here?</span></p><p class="NovelTimes"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6iU9GxfXPj58EWEFOeJFXIRCAppNbIzahIWO0pvJcrQIgdGfKikEOyruFUPOpTlWhmj9tW8qs0zc9kx4QoLSlDdGFeG4XZEz_VYLufjJE-Xt5e8JsWULFtnDGPXIb4ZO1r9vppyPEpM/s1600-h/lovedarkside.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6iU9GxfXPj58EWEFOeJFXIRCAppNbIzahIWO0pvJcrQIgdGfKikEOyruFUPOpTlWhmj9tW8qs0zc9kx4QoLSlDdGFeG4XZEz_VYLufjJE-Xt5e8JsWULFtnDGPXIb4ZO1r9vppyPEpM/s400/lovedarkside.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5096687200871014370" border="0" /></a></p><p class="NovelTimes">LOVE ON THE DARK SIDE is available from <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0352341327?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton&linkCode=as2&camp=1634&creative=6738&creativeASIN=0352341327">Amazon.co.uk</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=wendywootton&l=as2&o=2&a=0352341327" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" /> now and from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0352341327?ie=UTF8&tag=wendywootton0e&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0352341327">Amazon.com</a><img src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=wendywootton0e&l=as2&o=1&a=0352341327" alt="" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important;" border="0" height="1" width="1" /> on 16th October 07<br /></p>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-13748807236133230252007-03-29T20:27:00.000+01:002007-03-29T20:31:51.004+01:00GOTHIC BLUE - manuscript excerpt NC17<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmmP92ZibeLBf2VcwMRNGK0fp1TNIdnWua1DVEA15YzjUVMRKUYrTZUfjZXkktJTKDILG4HR57u6FP2p9M81tC-XRFRcj47FeP3U6LoVkR1royFNVuOoEXFiQfcUDYGWEBEe9fesfsj0Y/s1600-h/gb2007_120x194.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmmP92ZibeLBf2VcwMRNGK0fp1TNIdnWua1DVEA15YzjUVMRKUYrTZUfjZXkktJTKDILG4HR57u6FP2p9M81tC-XRFRcj47FeP3U6LoVkR1royFNVuOoEXFiQfcUDYGWEBEe9fesfsj0Y/s400/gb2007_120x194.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047430596959481602" border="0" /></a>'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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Right on cue, the sky opened and pealed, and with a hoarse cry, Jonathan hurled himself upon her.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />'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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><p>ISBN 0352330759</p>Originally published by Black Lace in 1996 - new reprint April 2007 [US]<br /> <p><i>Gothic Blue</i> is available from <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0352330759/wendywootton">Amazon.co.uk</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ISBN%3D0352330759/wendywootton0e">Amazon.com</a></p>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-9336025361393094312007-02-20T22:11:00.000+00:002007-02-21T09:50:52.100+00:00Buddies Don't Bite - unedited excerpt<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LiCTKTv8xZcSBo-vgLKqHoiXf3uctOG8GnoyM11u2ZutP-IpsF50UDWHESgZ-X55rnI3SrXsaQSMg8uX9M1GW3TC438tCPpelPgclVXeDTbe6vN1olTxTOK5_-sXSERzCmyuTtRieJ4/s1600-h/buddies.gif"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LiCTKTv8xZcSBo-vgLKqHoiXf3uctOG8GnoyM11u2ZutP-IpsF50UDWHESgZ-X55rnI3SrXsaQSMg8uX9M1GW3TC438tCPpelPgclVXeDTbe6vN1olTxTOK5_-sXSERzCmyuTtRieJ4/s400/buddies.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033742937582275906" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">But then, inside, something intangible tipped over…</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><i style=""><span lang="EN-GB">This is demented! I’m kissing my landlord and he’s got a hard-on! <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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. </span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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, <i style="">‘What the hell is going on?’</i></span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">But their tongues were dancing and she felt like growling too.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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… </span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">Now, she knew she’d been waiting and saving herself for Zack, and that the long weeks of abstinence would be worth it.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><i style=""><span lang="EN-GB">Oh, I want you!</span></i><span lang="EN-GB"> she cried silently to him, massaging his sensational bottom, and squirreling herself around against his cock.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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. </span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">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.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">And all the while he was kissing, licking, tasting… and nibbling.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">Nibbling? More than that… as his mouth reached her throat, she suddenly yelped and jerked beneath him.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><i style=""><span lang="EN-GB">Dear God, that is so hot! He’s biting my neck! <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-62492160773617226182007-01-10T18:40:00.000+00:002007-01-10T18:53:29.088+00:00Continuum... first time with Kevin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMhE-KT_1EKvCMTTxYfC8gkr4X_4X23w_yoisItt-Y-r02IBHBFDkJCkz79Vudk-y_OYDnXCZVOPChkSibdJmKPSYHJxRlpNeUyUfjmJSyWr_o78wmtDmkIJmg8dptFkkciWIpZ6xEiKE/s1600-h/continuum06_120_194.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMhE-KT_1EKvCMTTxYfC8gkr4X_4X23w_yoisItt-Y-r02IBHBFDkJCkz79Vudk-y_OYDnXCZVOPChkSibdJmKPSYHJxRlpNeUyUfjmJSyWr_o78wmtDmkIJmg8dptFkkciWIpZ6xEiKE/s400/continuum06_120_194.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5018474394415813938" border="0" /></a><span lang="EN-GB">It had come about almost instinctively, in the way the whole evening had.<span style=""> </span>One minute they were eating, talking, and getting on so comfortably with each other that they might have been friends for years, and the next they were kissing wildly and searching for gaps in each other’s clothes.</span> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">Or at least she was searching.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Hey, steady on,’ Kevin had said, laughing, as he grasped her wrists and kept her still, ‘what’s the hurry?’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">Joanna blushed, aware that she was dishevelled and breathing heavily.<span style=""> </span>She felt mortified at having seemed so keen.<span style=""> </span>She usually played the self-possessed, hard-to-get hand with men, and it usually worked.<span style=""> </span>It was only because she was tired and disorientated that she had let herself rush things.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">Frowning, she jerked free of him, then clutched at the gaping neckline of her blouse.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Hey,’ he said again, softly this time, cajolingly.<span style=""> </span>Then, like quicksilver, he caught hold of her by the upper arms, and leaned forward to kiss her slowly on the mouth.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">For the first few moments, he simply pressed his lips to hers, letting her enjoy the warmth of the gentle, quiescent contact.<span style=""> </span>Joanna had closed her eyes, automatically, but now she opened them and found that his too were open.<span style=""> </span>Blue and placid, they were level, intent, lazily watchful.<span style=""> </span>She tried to pull back, but his hands whipped up from her arms to cradle her head.<span style=""> </span>Her eyes widened, and she tried to struggle, but before she could achieve anything his tongue flicked between her lips like a small hot serpent.<span style=""> </span>He continued to watch her as it probed and lewdly darted.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">For a reason she didn’t quite understand, Joanna found it impossible to move.<span style=""> </span>She stood, almost limply, her head still lightly gripped in Kevin’s hands, while his tongue flashed around her mouth and explored its inner membranes.<span style=""> </span>She closed her eyes, but she sensed his were still open.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">The kiss went on for several minutes, and throughout it, Joanna remained passive, letting Kevin command the initiative for them both.<span style=""> </span>His hands moved constantly in her soft blonde curls, adjusting the position of her head; gently tilting it, occasionally stroking it.<span style=""> </span>It was as if he were a sculptor creating the kiss as a work of art.<span style=""> </span>Joanna had never been kissed that way before.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">When his lips finally left hers, she swayed.<span style=""> </span>Though her eyelids felt weighted, she opened her eyes, just as Kevin released her head, and when she focused, she discovered him stripping off his clothes.<span style=""> </span>Torn between anger and desire, she let desire win, and began unfastening her blouse.<span style=""> </span>She was astounded however, when Kevin - his tie, shoes and socks already flung about him and his fine cotton shirt undone - grasped her hands again, and squeezed them, as if to still her.<span style=""> </span>She was even more surprised that when he let them go, they stayed where they were; clasped against her chest, fingers curled, while he continued.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">In a moment or two, he was naked, and almost reluctantly, Joanna was impressed.<span style=""> </span>Wearing clothes, Kevin was an appealing man, for all his unusual, pointed features; but without clothes he was something else entirely.</span></p><p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">----------------------------</span></p><p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Continuum</span> is available now in the UK and from 6th Feb '07 in the US<br /></span></p><p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0352331208/wendywootton">Amazon.co.uk</a></span></p><p> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ISBN%3D0352331208/wendywootton0e">Amazon.com</a><br /></p>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-82586428993849286472006-11-08T12:51:00.000+00:002006-11-08T12:54:19.401+00:00Excerpt from THIS VERY BOUTIQUE<p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Ah yes, but is that all it’s supposed to do?’ His gleaming eyes narrow all of a sudden, ‘As I pointed out, there weren’t any instructions in the bag with it, and it’s not immediately obvious how one is supposed to use it.’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">That’s true. Items like the Spinetingler aren’t generally supplied with an operating manual. But then again, any red-blooded woman – or man – should know almost by instinct what to do with it. I get the feeling that Sir is just being deliberately obtuse. You get characters like this in the retail trade all the time, and it’s usually best for business to try and play along with them.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">The customer is always right and all that stuff, don’t you know?</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Perhaps a brief demonstration would help?’ he suggests, anticipating me. For a moment he purses his lips, and seems to find it difficult to meet my eyes. But then his broad face straightens again, and gives me a long, almost imperious look.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Of course, if you think so…’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Oh, I know so,’ he confirms with great authority, settling his large form more comfortably in the chair and tweaking at his long, unglamorous raincoat again. He seems to be making certain that it fully covers his lap. </span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Well, usually a young lady would tend to use this sort of item at night, in the privacy of her bed, or perhaps in her bath in the case of the waterproof version.’ I twist the bezel again, for effect. ‘But sometimes, of course, an armchair will do just as well.’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Do you often use it in an armchair?’ Sir enquires.</span></p>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-92081919815010895412006-11-01T17:57:00.000+00:002006-11-20T07:57:13.831+00:00Ill Met By Moonlight - unedited extract NC17<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/7403/545465544014470/1600/944749/moonlitbay.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/7403/545465544014470/320/755719/moonlitbay.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></p><p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘I dreamt about you last night.’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">The words were out before she could stop herself, and Robin’s peculiar bi‑coloured eyes snapped open again, instantly flashing their two brilliant hues.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Did you know that? I dreamt about you,’ she rushed on, almost panicking. ‘How can I have dreamt about you when I just met you not half an hour ago? It doesn’t make sense!’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">Without warning, Robin set his glass aside and slid out of his chair and onto his knees. His cock bounced from side to side as he shuffled across the patchwork rug until he was kneeling in front of her, his great head tilted to one side a little, <span style=""> </span>his gaze questioning and hypnotic.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">Compulsively, Lois drank some wine, almost on autopilot, but the second she took the glass from her lips, Robin reached for it, gently prised it from her fingers and set it aside. Still kneeling in front of her, he took her small warm hands in his much larger and curiously cooler ones.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘The woods and the sea are magical places, Lois, and this cabin is right at the nexus of both their influences…’ He squeezed her fingers very lightly, as if they were crystal and he didn’t want to damage them. ‘It’s hardly surprising that unusual things happen here… What you dreamt last night might have been a part of the future seeping back into the present.’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘That’s ridiculous!’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">But she was shaking. Could she do that? Could she want that? It was all very well to imagine kinky things in fantasies, but for real? That was another story. Especially with a man she barely knew.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘The world is strange, Lois,’ he murmured cryptically, his thumbs circling her palms in a light, soothing caress that seemed to impact all over her body… especially between her legs. She felt an intense urge to squirm, as if he was touching her there, and the look in his peculiar eyes seemed to say again that he knew exactly what she was feeling.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Your dream… was it pleasant?’ With a slow smile, he lowered his head, looking up at her from beneath his sumptuous lashes, and then brought first one, then the other of her hands to his lips for a kiss.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘I… er… no, not exactly… But it was strange… not something that could really happen.’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">The touch of his lips was like cold fire. She was shaking hard now, and she couldn’t tell whether it was fear, confusion, or extreme lust. Or a combination of all three…</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Are you sure?’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’ she almost cried.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">He shuffled closer, reached for her, and this time brought her mouth to his in a delicate, gentling kiss.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘What happened in your dream?’ he enquired, and his breath was like a whisper of perfumed air against her cheek and her ear.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">Furious blood flushed her face as she remembered the game, and her body bound and open and vulnerable to him. Hungering for him as it did now…</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">She tried to turn away from him, but he gently but firmly held her, his mouth against her hair.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘I can’t! I can’t say…’ His lips were moving, and she suddenly realised he was murmuring softly, describing the fantasy.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘How do you know these things? How do you know? It’s impossible for you to know what I dreamt…’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Hush, my dearest,’ he kissed her jaw, and then her throat, ‘just call it instinct… intuition… My dream, maybe, just as much as yours.’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘But I’m scared! I don’t know if want to do those things,’ she protested, her heart fluttering in her chest like a wild bird, the strange gull maybe, in her chest, ‘I don’t know if I’d ever really want to do something like that.’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">Taking her face between his large, cool hands, he forced her to look at him, straight into the disorientating beauty of his eyes.</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Then we can do other things, Lois… anything you like. Just say the word.’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘I d- don’t know what the word is…’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">‘Why it’s “yes”, of course, isn’t it?’</span></p> <p class="NovelTimes"><span lang="EN-GB">And then he kissed the whispered answer right from her lips.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-12600919239284790792006-10-11T08:46:00.000+01:002007-03-06T14:52:33.452+00:00Eyes of Desire<p>He lifted his lips from hers and his face was still indistinct above her. Tanned skin, dark, lustrous eyes, the mouth that had kissed hers full and red... And smiling… She could easily tell that he was smiling, although the subtle nuances of the smile were a mystery. There was no way to tell whether he was smug and macho, or sensitive and tender, although the way he began to gently stroke her breast suggested the latter.</p> <p>Suddenly, she had to know his name.</p> <p>‘Who are you? What’s your name?’</p> <p>There was a long pause, and despite the deficiencies of her vision, she sensed a certain withdrawal in his face.</p> <p>‘Just call me “Guy”,’ he said, something in his voice, some element of command, compelling her not to question him further. The way his lips came down on hers, harder this time, compounded the impression.</p> <p>Okay, no questions, she thought, turning off all rationality and reason and surrendering to ‘Guy’ and the predications of her senses. His kiss became more demanding, almost ferocious, and she found herself answering in kind, her tongue fighting, duelling, twining with his, as her hands clutched at his shoulders, his back, and his hard, muscular buttocks through the lightish cloth of what she was certain now was a pair of combat trousers. As he moved against her, his massive body both dominant and protective, the solid bulge at his groin brushed her thigh.</p> <p>Oh God… Oh God… I’m going to have sex with this man and I have absolutely no idea who he is and I don’t even want to ask him… Feeling like a slut, yet not in the slightest ashamed of the fact, she surged against him, twisting beneath him and rubbing herself rudely against his magnificent erection.</p>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-27143639497759212372006-10-06T21:53:00.000+01:002006-10-06T22:04:34.773+01:00Extract from SUITE SEVENTEENAnnie has invited Valentino to dinner at her house... and he arrives in a cherry red Ferrari!<br /><br />-----------------------------------------<br /><br />His eyes cruise my body as he straightens up, and my skin prickles as the rays of his extra sensory perception or whatever it is reveal my secrets. His gaze flicks to my breasts and then to my crotch and that slight, quirky smile of his tells me in no uncertain terms that he’s aware of my disobedience.<br /><br />A sudden, intense weakness sluices through me when he releases my trembling fingers. Why can’t we play the game now? Forget the roast beef and the trifle… the only thing I’ve got an appetite for is him. And he knows it. He knows it as surely as he knows that I’m wearing a bra and a thong despite his orders.<br /><br />The palms of my hand are moist and sweaty as I fight the compulsion to lift my skirt and reveal my sins.<br /><br />Right here in full view of the street…<br /><br />Our glances lock. His elegant head tilts in silent communication, making his hair ripple. I half expect him to confirm that he’s read my mind, and then command me to do exactly what I’ve been imagining.<br /><br />'Hello… nice to see you. Glad you could come,' I say belatedly, rendered inane and gauche by the power of my feelings. Is cocktail party chit-chat all I’m going to be able to manage? 'I love your car. It’s a Ferrari, isn’t it?’ I sound like a moron, but my brain cells are scrambled.<br /><br />‘Indeed it is…’ Taking my damp hand again, he leads me back towards the cherry red beauty, and I see a strange look of wistfulness in his eyes. He adores his car, that’s clear. But his feelings about it are mixed. His free hand drifts along the bonnet, caressing it so slowly and lovingly that I actually feel jealous.<br /><br />My sex clenches in a sudden sharp pang of longing, as if calling ‘touch me, touch me’ to those long, exploring fingers.<br /><br />Then the moment is gone, and he visibly braces up. It’s almost weird to watch, as if someone’s poured steel down his spine. The odd, melancholic expression on his face disappears, only to be replaced by replaced by a look of measured calculation.<br /><br />‘Won't you come through to the patio?' I gesture back towards the door with an arm that still doesn't quite know how to follow my brain's instructions.<br /><br />'One moment…’ Valentino smiles now, but it’s still hooded and knowing and alive with sly, macho mirth.<br /><br />As if he’s thrown down a gauntlet, my spirit rebels, even if my body and my senses are still enthralled. My chin comes up and I want to demand that he just brings it all on. Come on, big boy! Let’s start now and stop shilly-shallying about!<br /><br />'I have some things for you.' From the Ferrari's passenger seat, he draws out an exquisitely prepared sheaf of roses in shades of white, peach and yellow.<br /><br />Oh hell!<br /><br />The ground almost seems to shift under me, as if kicked aside by beauty of the flowers and the greater beauty of the gesture. The very essence of romance stings me on the raw and my eyes start to prickle. Ever so gently, Valentino puts the roses into my hands, then reaches out gently to stroke my cheeks. 'Hey, bella Anna…' His thumb curves and caresses my chin, the gesture slow and so sensual that my sudden tristesse is obliterated and every nerve in my body retunes to sex again.<br /><br />Valentino’s eyes glitter as he registers the metamorphosis.<br /><br />'Are you all right?'<br /><br />'I'm fine,' I gasp, even though only parts of me are fine and most of me is a whirling chaos of hormones and emotion. 'These are glorious, Valentino…Truly beautiful. Thank you.' To hide my absurd, girlish flutter, I lower my face to the heads of the roses and find that they smell just as intoxicating as they look.<br /><br />'My pleasure,' he replies, soft and low, his voice both tender and suggestive. Then he turns away, back towards the car, 'I have the wine too.' He retrieves a couple of bottles of awesomely good Champagne, and quirks his dark eyebrows wickedly at me.<br /><br />What are we celebrating?Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-34226045258253137062006-10-04T21:23:00.000+01:002006-10-04T21:30:16.616+01:00DUET FOR THREEA mini excerpt from DUET FOR THREE... another Stoneworld story that appears in WICKED WORDS - SEX AND MUSIC.<br /><br />Jason meets his ex, Maria, at a party....<br /><br />-----------------------------------------<br /><p>'Do you come here often?'</p><p>My heart jerks. It's a voice I recognise, despite the music.</p><p>I turn, and it feels like slo-mo. Surely it can't be her? Why would she be here?</p><p>But it is her. She's here. And I feel kind of sick inside from a mix of shock jumbled up with guiltiness… and regret.</p><p>'Do you come here often?' repeats Maria Lewis, a woman I once dated in London. A lovely girl who I really didn't treat well.</p><p>'Maria?'</p><p>An oblique smile, not unlike that of the barman, curves her soft pink mouth, and before I can say anything else, she reaches out and places her fingertips over my lips, to shush me. I'm semi-speechless anyway, so it doesn't really matter. But the warm contact of her skin almost makes my heart stop.</p><p>Bloody hell, she looks amazing.</p><p>I didn't know her for long, but she was always a pretty, and in a far more refined way than a lot of the Z list slappers that I went through.</p><p>But now, oh hell, she's just beautiful.Blue eyes brighter. Hair shorter, but blonder and wilder in a sort of sexy shag cut. Her perfect heart-shaped face has an inner glow of mystery, of life, of supreme confidence…</p><p>And her body?</p><p>Dear God Almighty, her body is just perfection - the stuff of every wet or waking dream I've ever had.</p><p>She's become every inch the superstar that I aspired to be and never was.'Let's dance,' she purrs, the tip of her forefinger pressing heavily on my lower lip for a second, dragging it down.</p><p>I feel as if I've just been struck by lightning.</p><br /><br /><p><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0352340614/wendywootton">Amazon.co.uk</a></p><p><a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ISBN%3D0352340614/wendywootton0e">Amazon.com</a></p> </p>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4468453736566545643.post-82252684195676213972006-10-02T18:27:00.000+01:002006-10-02T18:34:02.432+01:00tiny taster of PUBLIC DOMAIN<p>Propelled by his strong arm, the door swings smoothly open, and as he steps back to let me pass, I swear he winks at me. A second later, his face is a picture of innocence.</p> <p>Oh, but my Cicero is a prime specimen!</p> <p>My tall, dark companion is the perfect body servant. He has the face of an angel, he keeps himself in supreme condition, and he knows what I want before I know it myself. Hiding a smile, I congratulate myself for having selected him. It helps, of course, when one’s mother is the Matriarch of all the Islands, and one always gets first pick of the annual crop up from the farms.</p><p>My heavy figured satin skirts swish around my thighs and bottom as I sweep into the room, and I imagine Cicero, behind me, dreaming of what’s beneath them. He’s as familiar with my nether regions as he is with his own, even if it’s not really his place to lust after them without my permission. His daily duties include washing every part of me, anointing my body with oils and perfumes, and then dressing me from the skin outwards. And as a man, my sex must be ever in his thoughts even if tradition decrees it’s not supposed to be...</p><p>-----------------------------------------<br /></p>PUBLIC DOMAIN will appear in Black Lace's WICKED WORDS SEX IN PUBLIC anthology. It'll be available in the UK from February '07 and in the US from April '07<br /><p></p>Portia Da Costahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03145185188242876124noreply@blogger.com0