Enjoy Being Seduced on the South Bank!

Hi,

Time I caught you up with some of my new releases – last week saw the full release of Doing It For the Coach from Totally Bound, the week before that it was Her Boss and His Client from Xcite Books and just days earlier, South Bank Seduction from Velvet Books. But now-phew!-I’ve got time for a breather. Nothing due to come out for a little while so I can get back to writing. In the meantime, I thought you might like to do some reading, in terms of excerpts from my latest titles.9781783755851_FC

doingitforthecoach_800You’ll find a couple of spicy scenes from Doing It For the Coach on Day 18 of the Superotica Advent Calendar and Day 12 of the Valentine countdown. For a sizzling hot taster of Her Boss and His Client, try Day 3 of the Superotica Advent Calendar and Day 14 of the Valentine countdown.

 

 

 

However, here’s a first peak at my story Sweet Bird from South Bank Seduction. This anthology has been brilliantly collated by Ruby Kiddell from stories written by delegates to last year’s Eroticon 2013 conference which did indeed take place on London’s South Bank. My story moves from the riverside into the National Theatre, one of the South Bank’s landmark buildings for a sultry encounter between an actor and actress appearing together in the Tennessee Williams play, Sweet Bird of Youth. 

Enjoy the excerpt!

41GxAJestfL._SS140_SH35_The ovations still rang in my ears as I stood alone at the centre of stage later. It was much later. We’d taken more bows than were tasteful. Kelvin had scooped up bunches of roses that were thrown for me. We’d spoken to the press and drank champagne. And now I’d come back in the silence and the darkness to savour the moment alone. Because—deep breath—it had been a triumph. And I wanted to live in that moment for as long as I could. I wanted to hold the taste of it in my mouth because we only get two or three moments like that in a lifetime and they pass in the blink of an eye.
There was a single overhead spot that had been left on, creating a pool of light at the left side of the stage, away from the big bed which stood on the right. I stepped into the light and held out my arms, eyes shut.
‘What are you doing?’ called a voice from high up in the seats above me. An English accent.
I knew it was Kelvin. Even though he performed on stage with a perfect American accent—Chance Wayne talking with just the right amount of soft southern inflection for a native of the Florida gulf coast—he could turn it on and off like a tap. Now he was back to being Kelvin. London all through, a touch theatrical. The Brits don’t use the method, don’t inhabit a character other than their own.
I stepped out of the bright pool so I could see better where he was sitting.
‘Holding onto the moment,’ I said. ‘Ironing it onto my memory like a t-shirt transfer.’
Kelvin laughed and came down the aisle between the seats, then up onto the stage.
‘That was magic that we created here tonight,’ he said.
‘It did seem that way for a while,’ I said.
‘No one can ever take that from us.’
We stood looking at each other.
‘Dance with me,’ he said suddenly.
I looked around and shrugged my shoulders—there was no music. But he held out his arms and so I went to him. He started to sing. It was an old Bobby Darin song. Low and soft. His voice wasn’t brilliant but it sounded sweet in my ear as we rotated around the huge stage in a slow foxtrot. I hadn’t danced like this with anyone since my second wedding and I didn’t care to think how long ago that had been.
We got used to each other’s movement and he sped things up, swinging me out of his arms in a loop and back in against his chest again, until I laughed and lost my footing.
‘You know what we should do?’ he said.
I shook my head, breathing in the scent of him.
‘We should christen that big old bed. God knows, we’re going to be spending enough time lying in it over the next seven weeks.’
Was he being serious? I looked up at his face and there was intensity in the gaze that returned mine.
‘I thought you were gay,’ I said.
‘Bi-curious, if you like,’ he said with a bark of laughter. He started singing again and we twirled toward the bed.
And in those two spins, over two lines of an old, old song, I made up my mind to see where he wanted to lead me. I was Alexandra and he was Chance, alone in our room at the Royal Palms Hotel, St Cloud, Florida. 1950-something. And if I was making a grab at youth and beauty in the same way as Alexandra, what the hell?
We stood by the bed and he kissed me. A long, leisurely exploration of my mouth, his tongue soft against mine. He tasted of wine and that was grand, and I let the enjoyment of that kiss wash over me. I wasn’t in a hurry. His stubble scratched my chin and my cheeks. He clamped his teeth on my bottom lip and I pulled against it. Then he let go and plundered my mouth again, while his hands slid up and down my back, warm and firm with their touch.
‘I’m a star fucker,’ he said, as he broke away. ‘I can’t resist and you’re one of the biggest..
‘Everyone who screws me is a star fucker,’ I said. ‘Comes with the territory.’
I think I pulled him down onto the bed, but it may have been he that pulled me. In any case, we were first sitting on the edge and then lying, facing each other, on the tangle of sheets as they’d been left after the performance. We kissed again and I never gave a thought to the fact that we were on stage, in one of London’s most celebrated theatres. The building was silent, the players and the audience had left. The place was ours. The bed was ours. I pushed Kelvin onto his back and straddled him, pinning his arms at his side and unbuttoning his shirt deliberately slowly. I peeled the two sides back to reveal his smooth, hard chest and touched it with my hands. It was hairless—waxed—and I could feel the muscles under his hot skin. Just touching him like that sent a tremor up through me. It had been a while since I’d been with anyone, and even longer since I’d been with someone as beautiful as Kelvin.
‘Are you up for it?’ he said. And I thought how typically English that was. If I wasn’t up for it, I’d hardly be sitting astride him, pinching his nipples and grinding my ass against his growing erection.
‘Yes,’ I said, my voice already hoarse.
After that he was all action. He pushed me off and rolled me over onto my back. With nimble fingers he worked out the fastenings on all my clothes— the buckles on my waist cinching belt, the side zip and hook eye fastenings on the LBD I’d worn for the after party, the catch on my bra— and within moments I was spread upon the bed in nothing but my panties and my heels. All the while his breathing became heavier and more laboured. If Kelvin Adair was 100 per cent gay I was an orangutan’s grandmother.
Without shifting his gaze from the shadowed contours of my body, he peeled away his own clothes just as quickly. He paused momentarily as he scooted his pants down, producing from his pocket the familiar square package of a condom. I was staring up at his cock. It was already hard enough, so I held out my hand for a condom. The thought of rolling the fine rubber down the length of his shaft made my mouth water. But he dropped the condom down on the bed.
‘Patience,’ he said, dropping down on top of me.
His body was warm against the length of mine, and his cock was hot, pushing hard against my belly. His mouth found mine and his hands caressed — my back and shoulders, my breasts, the curve of my waist and the flair of my hips, the fleshiness of my buttocks and the soft skin inside my thighs. I explored his body, hard and muscular in contrast to my own, lean and strong and young. He kissed me hard and then, with one hand behind my head, and with lips as soft as breath, he moved his mouth across my neck. His tongue explored the hollow above my clavicle and his other hand cupped my breast and tugged at my nipple. Small bursts of pleasure collided and combined inside me like beads of mercury coalescing into a larger pool and then scattering apart again.
I reached down and grasped his cock with my hand. He grunted as my fingers tightened around it and I felt a tremor run through him as I started to slide my fist up and down its length. I wanted to feel it pulsing underneath my fingers, I wanted to taste the pearly fluid leaking out of its tip with my tongue, I wanted to guide it into the dark crevice between my legs until he could push forward to fill me with burning sensation.

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