Fina Brodie is warflesh. Enhanced by her government to bring ultimate pleasure, her negotiation skills secure anything her superiors want. The choice of pleasure she offers has always been hers. Until now. She's not meeting Kian, Lord of the Tir, to negotiate for their mysterious spice-water. She's payment.
And she's not alone in bringing pleasure to the mysterious Tir leader. The man Kian has chosen to join them in the very sexual, very public spring festival has long headed her "never ever" list. Add the spice-water, which is rocket fuel to her already highly evolved libido, and it makes her reactions to Jonathon Raegh all the more dangerous.
But the Tir have a hidden agenda, and as the aphrodisiac qualities of the spice-water ignite long-suppressed lusts, all is revealed to Kian, Fina and Jon in the heat and passion of the arena.
Reader Advisory: Let there be no confusion. The spring festival is a sexual feast between two incredibly sexy men and one very lucky woman. Get the ice water ready!
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November 13, 2009
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Excerpt from Warflesh by Kim Knox
The silence went on, breathing its own breaths, raging through her until she thought she might fly apart. Then, because the alternative was lonely hell and a night with an unfeeling vibrator, she took his head in her hands and kissed him.
Don't ask why I'm doing this, please.
He didn't. Quite the contrary, he spread his hands over her waist as if she needed steadying. At first she couldn't do anything except accustom herself to the nearly forgotten sensation of her lips touching a man's. Exposing herself this way made her feel so damn vulnerable, and part of her tried to pretend that it wasn't happening. But even if he rejected her, at least she'd have tried and would survive the attempt.
Reason faded. In its place sensation sparked to life. This was no peck between friends. No risk taken between strangers. She was a lonely woman and he a lonely man, alone in a house that no longer meant anything to her, heat flowing through her veins.
Without breaking the contact, he slid off the chair arm and into the seat, bringing her with him. She sat on his lap with her legs pressed against his and his cock hardening, his arms on her back, crying without tears, lips against lips, breathing together.
Unnerved by the flood of emotion, she nearly convinced herself she didn't want this heat, this energy. But she did! She couldn't live without it.
Not at all sure what she was doing, she opened her mouth and slid her tongue through the space she'd created. Finding his unbelievably soft inner lips, she closed her eyes and took herself to a place without chairs and walls, without her too-skinny ass nestled on his lap.
In this new space there was only a breeze's soft hum and fireflies walking across her skin. Energy.
He must have floated into it with her and understood its colors because his hands were sliding up and down her arms as if following the fireflies' lead. Weightless, she turned her flesh over to him, her mouth sending a message that spoke of acceptance and need and hunger.
The breeze continued its soft song, but now something was being added, a deepening to the hunger, a sensation close to pain in her womb. How new and untested she was as a woman, almost like a reborn virgin.
Sudden fear pounded into her. What if he rejected her because, despite her marriage license and the wedding ring she no longer wore, she knew pathetically little about fucking?
Back off. Tell him that kissing him was a mistake and you won't let it happen again and he should leave as soon as you find the title to the truck.
But if she did, she might not survive the night.
Would hate her cowardice.
Confused but knowing how important this scary thing they were doing was, she drew back. His features remained blurred.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't--"
She pressed her forefinger over his lips. "I started this."
"Why?" he asked around her finger.
"I, ah, chalk it up to too much time alone."
"It's more than that."
"How do you know! I mean, what makes you think that?"
He'd kept his hands on her since the kiss began. Now he ran them down her hips, the journey intimate and maddeningly slow, pressure reaching deep into her and increasing her awareness of her cunt. How would she react if he touched her there? Could she keep from begging?
"My job often takes me near electricity," he said, his fingers walking over the front of her thighs. Her breath whistled. "I can sense when a line is live just by getting close to it. There's a humming, a kind of invisible spark, a warning for lack of a better word. All those things are happening to you."
"Are my feet on the floor? If I'm grounded, then you should be safe, shouldn't you?"
He smiled but didn't otherwise acknowledge her attempt to lighten the moment. Maybe she'd leaned back a little more because his features had come into focus, and yet was she looking at a face she'd ever seen before? What was it about seeing a stranger's face across a crowded room and the absolute certainty that her world had changed as a result? She might have never experienced that particular romantic jolt but she'd dreamed.
This wasn't a dream.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to say," she admitted.
"Nothing. For once in your life, go with instinct."
Shaking his head, he dropped his gaze to her lap. Following his lead, she noted how close his fingers were to her crotch. He pressed. "What are you thinking?"