“And you sat here and listened to me go on and on about the incredible hotness of The Whisper every day, and you never told me.”
“I’m sor—” Jordan was cut off by Dana’s lips, pressed against hers once again. But this time, her kiss was softer. Deeper. Delicately she explored Jordan’s mouth with her tongue and a light nip of teeth, slipping inside to tangle Jordan’s tongue with hers. Every movement was tender, sweet, exquisite—and Jordan was stunned by the passion suddenly radiating from every line of Dana’s body.
Unable to contain a moan, Jordan drew Dana into her arms, returning the kiss with everything she had, with all the feelings that had been hidden so carefully in her heart for so long. And though her powers were drained, some small reserve must have remained. Bits of paper and broken china rose into the air all around them. Then their feet left the floor and they floated blissfully in each other’s arms.
Born and raised in upstate New York, Erin Dutton now lives and works in middle Tennessee. In her free time she enjoys reading, photography, and playing golf.
Her previous novels include four romances: Sequestered Hearts, Fully Involved, A Place to Rest, and Designed For Love. She is also a contributor to Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games and Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery from Bold Strokes Books. Her latest novel, Point of Ignition, came out in July 2009.
Better Than Fiction
Erin Dutton
We’d like to thank you all once again for coming. This afternoon’s readings will feature sneak peeks at some forthcoming novels from some of your favorite authors.”
As the facilitator went on to introduce the first author, the twinge in my stomach grew increasingly noticeable. I fought the urge to shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans to hide the slight trembling in my fingers. Squinting against the bright sunlight, I regretted my decision to leave my sunglasses on the table next to the chair I had abandoned minutes ago. But I hoped the heat would provide an excuse for the flush staining my cheeks.
I stood off to the side of the makeshift stage, which was really only a clearing on the aggregate patio around the pool. Around me, women perched on folding chairs that had been placed between the already occupied umbrella-shaded tables. At the moment their attention was riveted on the dark-haired woman at the microphone reading from her upcoming espionage novel. When I’d read her last book I had been unable to put it down. But today, I couldn’t concentrate on her words. I barely registered the accented voice I would normally have found sexy.
Public speaking always made me nervous. And as I awaited my turn at the microphone, I surreptitiously glanced at the papers I’d been holding so tightly that a crease bisected the passage. Since I was minutes away from delivering my own reading, there was little point in studying the words, but scanning them helped calm my racing heart.
I swept my eyes over the audience, then stopped as I met a pair of calm blue eyes. Despite her casual posture there was a seriousness in her expression that I knew was meant to reassure me. Her gaze was a silent reminder that I would do just fine, as I had during each of my other readings in the previous two days.
At that moment she glanced down my body and even from a few feet away I imagined I could see her eyes darken when they paused near my crotch. I felt the heat in my face ratchet up as I realized she was likely thinking about what lay beneath my jeans. The thin strips of leather hugging my hips and ass provided sufficient distraction from the waiting spectators, but now my nervousness took on a new edge. My fingers tingled with the temptation to discreetly smooth my hand over the fly of my jeans where I knew I would feel the ridge of the metal ring that for the time being remained empty. The rest of my equipment nestled safely in her purse on the table next to her elbow.
Earlier, she had watched as I dressed for the afternoon’s events. When I had emerged from the bathroom unable to hide a shy smile, she crossed the room and deftly unfastened the fly of my jeans.
“Sexy,” she’d murmured as she spread the soft denim. I glanced down and had to admit there was something hot about how the denim framed the silver ring lying against smooth black leather. She’d caressed the metal circle, lightly then more firmly, and an imprint of pleasure lingered on my skin long after she stopped.
She searched my eyes, as if trying to gauge my reaction to wearing the harness. I had put it on briefly before, right after we first bought it, just to see how it felt. I certainly wasn’t a prude, but I had never felt comfortable confessing my curiosity about such things to any of my previous lovers. So I was surprised when I found myself having the conversation with her far earlier in our relationship than I would have expected. She echoed my interest as well as my apprehension and we had tabled the discussion until we knew each other better, which turned out to be only a few weeks later as we shyly wandered the aisles of a local adult shop. The rush of arousal and power when I first slipped on the harness had caught me off guard, though I still worried about my capability. I knew I could please her with my fingers, but would I be as adept at reading her needs without the feel of her pulsing around me?
I can’t remember which of us first suggested I wear the harness during a reading, but we agreed the shared secret would be arousing. And as I stood next to my fellow authors gazing at her in the audience, I was quite aware that we’d been right. When I shifted my stance slightly, I could feel how wet I was beneath the shield of leather covering my center, and the slight lift of one side of her mouth indicated she knew it too.
The sound of my own name startled me and I jerked my eyes from her face to that of our facilitator. Her expectant expression told me I’d missed my cue to go to the microphone, so I hurried over.
I smoothed the papers in my hand and mumbled a greeting into the mic, praying I could get through the next eight minutes without completely losing my composure. I made the mistake of seeking her eyes again and she was nearly my undoing. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth in a failed attempt to hide her smile and I was suddenly very aware that I was standing in front of a crowd of people wearing a strap-on harness. And that I was both turned on and terribly out of my comfort zone.
I cleared my throat and began reading a scene involving a first kiss between two women. When the characters, who had been arguing only moments ago, embraced just as passionately, I glanced up and my gaze crashed into hers. A quick look down confirmed the next sentence and I resumed speaking as if directly to her—describing the way they clutched at each other and their hips ground together. As I told of one woman’s fist tugging impatiently at the other’s hair, I swore I felt the sharp pull against my own scalp. I drew out the smoldering kiss, telling of one’s tongue sweeping in the other’s mouth. And somehow, I kept enough composure to go on instead of melting into a puddle when the tip of her tongue swept along her upper lip, even though for a moment all I could think about was the feel of that same tongue against my heated flesh.
I jerked my eyes away from hers and managed not to rush through the remaining two pages of my selection. Afterward, as I mingled among readers and fellow authors, I got the sense she was purposely staying away. When I circled in her direction, she sometimes let me close enough to brush her hand or catch the subtle scent of her perfume, light and airy, before drifting slowly away. I made my obligatory appearances only as long as necessary, all the while anticipating the moment when I could disappear with her.
When that moment finally came, I grabbed her hand and led her toward our hotel room, which luckily was less than a minute away. I pulled her inside the room and swung the door closed. She shoved me against it and my breath escaped, half gasp and half moan as my back met the door. I barely had time to fill my lungs again before her mouth covered mine. Her teeth scraped my lips and her tongue drove inside.
“I take it you liked the reading,” I said when she let me breathe.
She grabbed my waistband and yanked me against her, then whipped open my fly. Shoving her hands inside, she growled, “All I could think about while you were reading was this.” She pressed the leather agai
nst my center and my clit twitched. “And what you might do with it later.”
I grasped her hips. “Is it later yet?”
“Yes,” she whispered, then louder, “Yes.”
She pulled her shirt over her head and unhooked her bra as she moved toward the bed. She had dropped her purse in the chair by the door as we entered and I reached inside it before I followed the trail of her discarded clothing across the room.
She now wore only pale pink cotton panties and she watched me watch her as she eased them off. I traced my fingers over her gentle curves and along the sides of her breasts. She pushed her hands in the open fly of my jeans again, then impatiently shoved them down and I kicked them away. Needing to feel her soft skin against mine, I quickly stripped off the rest of my clothes. When I eased her back and lay on top of her, she sighed and wrapped her arms around me.
“Kiss me.” Her voice shook slightly and suddenly I was nervous and very aware of the harness tight around my hips.
I kissed her, pouring my need for her into each stroke of my tongue against hers. Slipping my hand between us, I caressed her breast and elicited a soft moan that turned deeper, more desperate as I tugged firmly on her beaded nipple.
When I cupped the back of her neck and trailed my fingers through her hair, she leaned into my hand as if drawing comfort from my touch. I pulled back slightly and searched her face for hesitation. I wanted her—wanted to share this with her, but her pleasure was most important.
With a fistful of my hair she guided my face close to hers. “Please,” she rasped. “Touch me.”
Now was not the time for teasing and withholding, and I immediately stroked over her stomach. I would give her everything she asked for and it would still not equal what she had given me. She filled an emptiness, eased an ache I had grown accustomed to holding deep inside me. Heat flooded me when I dragged two fingers between her legs and felt her moisture. She was ready and I knew I was wet too.
She thrust against my hand and I rubbed her more firmly.
“I need you inside.” Her warm breath feathered against my ear.
“Not yet,” I whispered despite the fact that my fingertips were already poised to enter her. I held back, fearing I wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Now.” She grabbed the straps at my hips and pulled me closer, grinding harder against my hand.
“Wait.” I eased back, still kneeling between her legs.
I slipped the silicone dildo into the ring as quickly as I could and reached for a small bottle of lube on the nightstand. My heart raced as I pushed my hips forward slowly, slid inside her, and paused. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back with a moan. I gently kissed the soft skin of her neck. I was surprised at how comfortable I was, having expected to be more self-conscious, and I loved that she was willing to try this with me.
“Please.”
Her softly spoken plea sent spears of arousal through me. I pulled back carefully before surging forward again.
“Oh, yes.”
Her fingernails on my back urged me on as I stroked into her over and over, ending each thrust pressed as tightly as possible against her body in an effort to relieve the ache between my own thighs. Her legs came around me and she pulled me deeper each time.
I watched her face as I carefully matched my pace to the lifting of her hips. But the pleasure building in me propelled me on faster and harder. I hadn’t thought I could come like this, with only the stimulation of leather against me, but the feel of her beneath me, meeting my sharp thrusts, hurled me toward the edge.
When her hips began to jerk almost erratically and she moaned with every panting breath, I hovered on the brink behind her.
“I’m so close. I’m going to go with you,” I said as I grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back even further. I closed my teeth on her neck and plunged into her one more time. She cried out and wrapped her arms tightly around me. Unable to contain the pulsing tension that uncoiled like a spring, I tumbled after her.
“Stay,” she said a minute later when I would have moved to her side. Her legs bracketed my hips and I remained inside her, holding her while we trembled through the aftermath.
“Always.” I kissed her forehead, and smiled at our secret, a story much better than fiction.
Ali Vali lives right outside New Orleans with her partner of many years. As a writer, she couldn’t ask for a better more beautiful place, so full of real-life characters to fuel the imagination. Her works include the Cain Casey Saga (The Devil Inside, The Devil Unleashed, Deal with the Devil), numerous romances including her most recent, Blue Skies,, and the Lambda Literary finalist Calling the Dead, a novel of romantic intrigue.
Hooked on Quack
Ali Vali
We got it!” Beth held the phone in one hand and pumped the other fist into the air. “We damn well got it.”
“They sent Chili into a room full of women and you had doubts about us getting the contract?” Paul shook his head. “Get real, Beth, she had them eating out of her hand.”
Both laughed because, humor aside, the truth was, their boss’s personality was hard to resist. It was the reason there was hardly any turnover on her team and a waiting list to come and work for her.
Christian “Chili” Alexander had come out of college with a head full of ideas on how to conquer the world, just not an idea of which particular world would be the subject of her conquest. On the way back to her home in New Orleans, a flat tire stopped her in a little town just east of the city. Stumbling into the small one-room campaign headquarters of Alvin Millet to use the phone, she found her calling instead. Chili considered Alvin the one candidate vying for a city council seat with the heart and drive to fairly represent the local constituents. What Alvin didn’t have was money or a message, but after a thirty-minute conversation, what he did have was a new campaign manager. Chili still had a lot to learn after Alvin took his oath of office, but she’d found the one slice of the world she wanted to conquer—politics.
The Alexander team was the busiest and most effective unit in the Pellegrin-Morris Consulting Firm, handling campaigns from the local to the national level. Chili’s offices took up two floors of Huey Pellegrin’s refurbished building next to the Mississippi River in New Orleans, and from the moment you stepped off the elevators, you could feel the adrenaline flowing. Everyone there believed as Chili did—their efforts could change the world, and change it for the better.
Their latest challenge was Kathleen Bergeron, hopefully the first woman who would sit in the governor’s chair in the state of Louisiana. Bergeron’s campaign was the contract everyone in the business was hot for, and after two meetings with Kathleen’s top advisors, it was Chili’s to see to the end.
As the buzz went through the office, the elevator doors opened and Huey Pellegrin stepped out to what he liked to call his cash cow floor. His daughter Samantha stood next to him, smiling at all the backslapping going on. Chili had done it again and her team was ready to fight the good fight, each and every one confident of success with her at the helm. The hero of the day was still at Mrs. Bergeron’s local office, but had called ahead so they could uncork the champagne.
“I see the jungle is going to be hopping today,” Samantha said as she swept an errant lock of blond hair behind her ear. “After she gets back, they aren’t going to get any work done.”
“Honey, I think you’re the only one in the building who’s immune to the Alexander charm. You don’t care for Chili much, do you? I thought after working with her on Senator Emory’s campaign you would’ve warmed up to her some.”
Samantha shrugged. “If other people think she’s the end all, that’s great. Hey, it’s that much better for our bottom line. Just don’t ask me to explain or try to understand it—that I really can’t do.”
At that moment the stairwell door opened and Chili stepped out. She took the eight floors of stairs every day, a couple of times a day, to burn off energy and stay trim. “Huey, what brings you down to the trenches?” S
he shook his hand not expecting too many accolades from her boss. It wasn’t Huey’s style and Chili wasn’t the type of person who needed much praise. Huey shared her deep love of the political game. For both of them it was a passion whose fire would never go out. “And you come with such a lovely sidekick.”
Samantha rolled her eyes at the comment but reminded silent.
“I came to remind you not to be late this Saturday. I expect you on the dock by five, Chili, no excuses.” Huey turned and started for the elevator, looking back at her when the doors opened. “One last thing. Congratulations on Bergeron. Good job, kid.”
“What’s Saturday?” Paul asked as Chili made her way to her office.
“The Pellegrin-Morris annual duck hunting trip. There’s no better photo op for any politician, Pauly, than to be seen brandishing a firearm. Makes them look tough on crime and strong to the ever-powerful gun lobby.” With a flip of a switch the unique boards in the room rolled to fresh, clean white paper. Chili always thought better with a pen in her hand, and it was time to start strategizing Kathleen’s campaign. Before long two of the walls in her office would contain the roadmap that would lead the woman who’d just hired them to victory.
“You’re willing to kill some helpless ducks for a photo op?”
“Pauly, I’m willing to kill you for a photo op,” Chili joked as she tossed a pile of messages in the trash. Most were from the other gubernatorial campaigns looking for some election-day magic. “I don’t particularly enjoy spending my day in a duck blind freezing my ass off, but this event is nonnegotiable as long as I’m here working for Huey. It’s his favorite event and I don’t want to disappoint him. Besides, you know how much he loves dealing with the media.”
“Does that mean there’s a chance you’ll be giving up duck hunting after this election, so to speak?”
The view out the two walls of solid glass overlooked the churning brown water of the river and parts of the port, and as it often did, it captured Chili’s attention. She was silent for so long, Paul was about to leave her to her thoughts.
Radclyffe & Stacia Seaman - Romantic Interludes 2 - Secrets Page 9