by Various
“Watch it, woman,” he warned.
She grinned, feeling playful. Goddess, she hadn’t felt that way in a long time. A small smile flirting with her mouth, she rocked her hips deliberately, thrusting her breasts out a little to tease him.
Cerian found herself on her stomach in record time. She gave a short scream of surprise that ended in a laugh.
He dropped a lingering kiss onto the back of one knee and another to the base of her spine, his tongue stealing out to taste her skin, before he straddled her. His now-hard cock pressed between her upper thighs. He landed a playful thwack on her 60
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buttocks and she started, letting out a gasp. Pleasure jolted through her pussy at the contact.
Brushing her braids to the side, he rubbed her shoulders and back until she nearly purred. “I could get used to this,” she murmured.
Rhys pulled her hips up until she was on all fours. He covered her body with his, pressing his mouth to her ear. “So could I.” His voice rumbled through his chest and vibrated into her. “How do you feel, Cerian? Are you sore?”
“I feel better than I have in a long time.”
He slipped a finger into her pussy and she moaned. “So you feel good enough for this?”
“Yes,” she breathed. Her body was already prepared to take him again. He set the head of his cock to her pussy and she thrust her hips up in welcome.
Rhys took her slowly this time, shafting her in long, easy strokes until she climaxed and she took him with her into ecstasy. In all her long life she’d never met a man who could draw so much pleasure from her body, she thought as he lowered her to the bed.
She turned her head and watched him close his eyes. Soon, his breath transitioned to the deep rhythm of sleep.
Tomorrow, she’d have to say goodbye.
Cerian didn’t sleep until many hours later.
61
Anya Bast
Chapter Five
Rhys awoke slowly, reaching around the bed for Cerian and coming up empty.
Sounds of rustling fabric had him opening his eyes. Cerian stood dressed and staring down at him.
“Oh, those are way too many clothes, cariad,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice.
“Come over here and let me take some off.”
She smiled weakly. “I have a lot to do today, Rhys. We got rid of the Sarthes, but there are still Tuatha Dé Danaan who lack faith in my leadership. I have trade to set back up again, if it’s possible. Food to locate, if it’s not.”
He flipped the blankets away, stood, and walked to her, suddenly wondering if she returned the feelings that had sparked for him somewhere between the brawl in the tavern and this moment.
Cerian looked down and away. “I’ll get the rover charged up, take you back—”
He cupped her chin and forced her gaze to his. “Do you want me to go?”
“What I want isn’t important,” she muttered. “You have a life elsewhere. I have one here. I have lots of work to do, restoring my people’s confidence in my rule. They’ve obviously lost it, considering we have these traitors within our midst.”
“There is something about being near you that makes me deeply content, Cerian.”
She glanced up at him with her lips parted, a vaguely stunned look on her beautiful face.
“And if you don’t mind,” he continued, “I’d like to stay and explore it a little more.
And maybe I could help you a little, you know, around here. That is, if you want me to stay.”
She smiled and for a fleeting moment the shadows left her eyes. “Yes, I want you to stay, Rhys.”
“Okay, I’m glad that’s settled. Now, about those clothes…”
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About the author:
Anya Bast writes erotic fantasy and paranormal romance. Primarily, she writes happily-ever-afters with lots of steamy sex. After all, how can you have a happily-ever-after WITHOUT lots of sex?
Anya welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, Suite 13, Stow OH 44224.
Also by Anya Bast:
Blood Of The Rose
Autumn Pleasures: The Union
Spring Pleasures: The Transformation
Summer Pleasures: The Capture
Winter Pleasures: The Training
WRITERS UNBLOCKED
Diana Hunter
Diana Hunter
As the flogger fell on her spread and helpless body, Jack grinned widely. Was there anything better than having a willing, bound woman before you, ready to serve your every whim? The sight of his wife, squirming and moaning as the deerskin caressed her breasts, aroused him as nothing else did. His thick cock swelled to its full eight inches, the purple veins bulging with life.
Jessica cried out as the leather landed across her nipples, stinging the aroused little buds. Already hard from Jack’s pinching and the clamps that held them tight, they ached with every blow. But she would have it no other way. The submission she gave her husband was a gift she could give no other man and her pussy glistened with her kindled passion.
Jack threw the flogger to the side and mounted his helpless wife. Grabbing a pillow from the top of the bed, he pushed it under her hips; she helped by raising her shaved mound as high as her bound limbs allowed. Her pussy was pink and slightly swollen from the few blows he had landed square on those most luscious lips. With a feral growl, he thrust into her waiting wetness.
With her husband’s body taking her so forcefully, Jessica had little choice but to come. Her cries played counterpoint to his; she felt the waves of pleasure course through her, tingling all the way down her bound arms to the very tips of her fingers.
Several times she thrust her body forward, pushing him deeper to extend her climax.
But all too soon it ended and she relaxed in contentment.
Her breathing returning to normal, her heart rate slowing down, Jessica Blackburn pulled the pillow from between her legs and stood up. It had been a great fantasy this time and she grinned as she stowed the bolster back on the bed behind the other pillows. Her husband would never notice her scent on the long, wide pillow, not after she spritzed just a dash of store-bought perfume in its general direction.
Yes, definitely a very nice fantasy this time, she thought to herself as she straightened her hair and pulled on her jeans. Every day she came home from work and every day her husband greeted her with a peck on the lips before going back to his own work on the downstairs computer. She would come upstairs and change out of her professional, constricting clothes and into something more casual. Today it was jeans and a turtleneck sweater. Never sweats. There was absolutely nothing sexy about sweatpants. Or a sweatshirt.
She sighed as she gave herself a once over in the mirror. Not that dressing sexy meant anything. Although she married Jack two years ago, he had recently told her she really didn’t need to keep buying sexy underthings…that the garments didn’t matter to him. Jessica was heartbroken. She had been purchasing them all along in order to spice up their rather tedious sex life. A sex life he, apparently, did not want spiced up.
In spite of the fact that she had just come, she still felt horny. Her glance fell on the frame that surrounded their queen-sized bed. It was a four-poster, with strong iron bars connecting the four iron posts. Small finials decorated the tops of the posts and she had 66
Writers Unblocked
threaded creamy sheer voile curtains to surround the intricate ironwork of the headboard. Oh, the fantasies she had spun when they bought this marvelous piece of furniture! But when she had hinted to Jack that he spread her wide and tie her down to play with her body, he had laughed out loud at the absurdity. Jessica did not mention it again.
Put back to rights, she sauntered downstairs to find her husband. She knew right where he would be—at the computer in their downstairs study, working away at his book. She rounded the corner of the doorway and poked her head in.
The sight of Jack Bl
ackburn’s blond mop never failed to elicit a little catch in her throat. At her request, he wore his hair long, the curls spilling over and around his head to brush his shoulders. Pulled back out of the way now, still his hair curled gracefully in its ribbon tie. Didn’t matter that she was married to the man; his gorgeousness never failed to thrill her. Dressed as usual in jeans and a denim shirt that accentuated the powerful muscles of his back and chest, Jess knew he was unaware of his effect on her.
The strong lines of his jaw were set as he hunched over the keyboard, his ruggedly handsome face scrunched into tiny crinkles as he glared at a problematic sentence. His intense, deep-set blue eyes would melt her heart as soon as he glanced her way.
She remembered the first time she had ever seen him, at a conference for writers of romance books. He had been working the room, charming the editors and the publishers as well as several of the authors. In fact, Jessica had at first taken him to be one of the cover models who often attended these affairs to look for work. But when her companions stated that, no, that was Jack Blackburn, the author of some of the steamiest romantic books ever written, Jessica just knew she had to meet him.
And so, she had done her own set of networking, slowly getting closer to the blond-haired writer with every handshake. From here she could see his strong, broad shoulders and even while she spoke with a new contact, a part of her mind analyzed the muscles that rippled under his burgundy linen shirt. Jessica didn’t know how many books the man had written; she had only read one. But that one certainly explained the crowd of women around him she was now trying nonchalantly to navigate through.
Even though she endeavored to keep him in the corner of her sight as she worked the room, the press of people hid him from her. Finished with the conversation she was holding, Jessica turned to get her bearings on him again, and discovered he was no longer in the spot he had occupied for such a long time. Frantically, her eyes searched the room… A bump from behind almost made her snarl. Turning around to give the woman a dirty look, Jessica’s demeanor immediately relaxed. The woman who bumped her was now shaking the tall author’s hand, fawning all over him. Was it her imagination? Or did Jack Blackburn’s smile seem just a bit forced?
Positioning herself to get her chance at meeting the hunk of the room, Jessica plastered on her own smile, suddenly not sure if she wanted to destroy the illusion.
Sometimes it was best to admire beauty from afar. A sudden image of Lina Lamont in Singing in the Rain flashed in her memory and she paused. But before she could run, the woman in front of her stepped back…and right on her toes.
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Diana Hunter
And from there? Well, the events that succeeded read like one of the romance novels they both wrote—he picked her up and carried her to a quiet room off the main ballroom, no matter that her toes were only bruised and there was no lasting damage.
They fell to conversing as he insisted upon an icepack for her foot and finally confessed to using her as an excuse to get away. He really wasn’t the crowd-type person his alter-ego writer was.
Their courtship had been covered in the papers, but thankfully, on the back pages.
While she was gaining some fame as a romance writer in her own right, Jack’s spotlight cast a very large pool of attention and Jessica had come to understand the man’s penchant for privacy. The media hounds faded away, however, once the wedding was over and the two settled into a normal life.
A humdrum life, some might say. Jessica fixed her smile in place and waited for her husband to notice her. It was a courtesy they both gave to one another—never interrupt a writer in mid-sentence. She spent the few moments watching his long fingers dance on the keyboard…her imagination drifted…and his fingers danced over her clit as she lay bound to the bed upstairs…
“How long have you been standing there?”
Jessica jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice. With a guilty look, she pulled her hand away from the front of her jeans, clearing her throat before trying to speak. “Not long. I just wondered if you had any preferences for dinner.”
Jack Blackburn eyed his wife. She was undoubtedly the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on. Two years ago, he had already read her book before recognizing her at the writer’s conference. Using her sore toes as an excuse to leave the room gave him a chance to get them out of sight of the ever-present paparazzi who insisted on following him everywhere. He did not miss opportunities when they presented themselves.
He had also not missed the sudden withdrawal of her hand from her crotch.
“You know me, my sweet. Whatever you feel like fixing is fine with me.”
The look she shot him would have melted iron. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.
Jack listened to the sound of rattling pans. What was her problem tonight? He leaned back in his chair, the steamy scene on the computer screen momentarily forgotten.
If only Jessica could be more like the women he wrote about instead of the ones she wrote about. The women in his stories generally had strong, even tough exteriors, but inside just wanted a man to dominate them. While he couched his phrases in flowery-yet-specific terms, to those who understood the D/s lifestyle, there could be no doubt about the author who wrote such strong heroes. Heroes who intuitively knew what their lover wanted and gave it to them—even when the woman was too afraid to ask for herself.
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But Jessica’s heroines were always strong, independent women who knew what they wanted…and got it. The relationships she detailed were ones of perfect equality where responsibilities were shared and sex was…well…where sex was vanilla.
Ordinary, plain old sex couched in terms so intense as to make her readers blush with a sudden hormonal rush.
He grinned, leaning back in his chair and contemplating his wife’s qualities. Yes, the woman could write, there was no doubt about that. And she did it in her spare time.
Several times he had mentioned her staying home, but she always put him off. Jack dropped the issue, thinking her career as a teacher must give her something that staying home with him wouldn’t. His grin widened, putting deep creases in his cheeks. On occasion, she did take a personal day and stayed home to use him for “research”. He always willingly complied.
But then his smile faded and he sat up.
She had used him for research, but he had never used her. In any sense of the word.
Jessica was the love of his life. How could he ever tell her the demons that hid inside of him? The demons that peeked through his writing, but he was afraid to unleash, lest she turn from him in disgust.
For a moment he stared at the scene on the screen, the words detailing yet another of his fantasies—the heroine bound against her will, the hero winning her over with his ways, the inevitable sex scene where she gave herself to him of her own volition, his desires becoming hers.
Her bound breasts, round and firm in their bindings, excited the beast inside his soul.
Capturing the young London aristocrat had been a rare stroke of good fortune in a season of despair. Captain John Blakemoore stared at the white skin of the woman bound in sea ropes before him, her breasts turning pink as he twined the rough rope around them. Her submission to his will was sweeter than the honey of the tropical bees that formed their golden syrup from the flowers that thrived on the sun.
Fear glinted in the woman’s eyes—fear and desire mixed. The captain had worked hard on this conquest, harder than he’d ever worked before. He never cared about a woman’s reasons; her submission to him was all that mattered. The conquest. Forcing her to admit his domination over her.
Only this time his heart had gotten involved and now he bound her tightly, tying her bound hands to the beam overhead, stretching her slender body so that she was forced to her toes.
The glint in her eyes confirmed she was a willing prisoner. Her begging on the deck in port in front of all the townspeople had been a particu
larly sweet moment of triumph. She was a creature of passion as he was and he ached to take her now.
Instead, the torment of her body would take precedence. He would teach her how pain and pleasure were closely mixed, and how one could easily lead to the other. His fingers reached out to squeeze a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and the small whimper from her throat made his cock hard.
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Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small set of clamps, designed at his orders and made by a jeweler in Jamaica. Stretching her nipple taut, he clamped the metal onto her sensitive little bud, then let go and watched her squirm.
She danced in such a delightful way, tears forming in her beautiful eyes. And yet, she did not ask to have it removed. Its companion dangled from the other end of the chain and when he picked it up to attach it to her other nipple, she hesitated only a moment before thrusting her breast forward and into his hand.
With a grin, he repeated his actions, first stretching the nipple out until she gasped, and then attaching the clamp and letting her breast fall to bounce off her chest.
“More,” she whispered into his ear when he leaned down to kiss the white sweep of her stretched arm. Through the sheen of tears, she pleaded her submission. “Let me give all of myself to you, John Blakemoore. Let me surrender to your will.”
No. His beautiful wife would never submit. Jessica would leave him instead. With a muttered curse, Jack Blackburn shut down the program and stalked out of the room.
* * * * *
“Oh, Andi, I get so tired of trying. Why bother anymore?” With the receiver crammed between her ear and her shoulder, Jessica busied herself about the house, dusting and straightening as she went. These Saturday no-mind jobs, as she referred to housework, relaxed her and gave her a chance to think. Usually she mulled over some thorny story problem, but today, her sexual frustration was the only thing on her mind.
And when Andi called, that frustration spilled out onto her best friend.