Blurbportiadacosta.com : portia blog : portia's black lace books
Please be aware that this excerpt contains sensual content that is only suitable for adult readers who are comfortable with frank language and descriptions of erotic scenarios
Blurb
Pleasure with a perfect stranger…
Jay Bentley is a man with issues. Haunted by physical and psychological demons, he seeks solace and sexual oblivion in the pursuit of an exquisite erotic daydream from his youth, and the reality of a woman who has illuminated his inner fantasies since a brief meeting years ago.
Sandy Jackson has always known that a certain magic is 'missing' from her life. She's feisty and philosophical, but her dreams are filled with heated images of a handsome Prince Charming she once encountered, a man who will kiss everything better and thrill her with glorious, dangerous pleasure.
But the past is an illusion, and the present fraught with conflict and uneasy compromise… can two passionate lovers reconcile their differences and slake their burning sensual hunger for each other in a wild and daring liaison?
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Available as an ebook from Portia's
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Excerpt 2 - unedited
Around a little bend in the lane though, where an old step stile gave access to the adjoining meadow, they did stop. The low, sweeping bows of an old tree hid them completely from the distant road now
Still clasping her fingers in his, Jay pulled off his shades with his free hand, tucked them in the neck of his tee shirt. His eyes were alight. With mischief. With desire.
When Sandy glanced down at his crotch, his cock was bulging in his jeans.
‘Crikey, it doesn’t take much to get you going!’
Jay laughed suddenly, a harsh noise, almost a bark. He shook his head.
‘No, it doesn’t, does it?’ He smiled, looking down at himself. Sandy could have sworn there was surprise and a sense of wonder in his face. It wasn’t the usual smug pride of a man in his own equipment, but more a genuine astonishment at his own condition.
I wonder why he’s so surprised he’s got the horn? Is it because he’s not used to being with girls so ordinary?
Sandy frowned, annoyed with herself for thinking that, yet even so, with a Bond car he must be used to women of the Bond calibre too.
But why be so negative? He was here, now, with her, not some polished ‘It’ girl. Seize the day, or whatever. She stared at his crotch.
‘What do you want to do about that?’ It was difficult not to just reach out and cup him. And the urge spiralled when he reached down to cradle himself, looking for all as if he still didn’t quite believe his own rampancy. The sight of him fondling himself made her breathless, her heart go light and pitter-pat. Her own sex stirred as if silently offering to receive him and she wished that he’d pull her hand towards him, and press it against himself.
‘What do you suggest?’ He looked her straight in the eye, still holding himself, his thumb gliding over the stretched denim.
‘I… um… I could…’
Ridiculously, she couldn’t say it, even if she desperately wanted to do it.
His eyes glittered, challenging her mettle as much as the promise of his cock did.
‘I could give you a blow job.’
‘What an incredibly sweet offer. How could I possibly resist?’
‘Don’t laugh at me!’ she cried, even though she was laughing herself. Dear God, didn’t the language of sex sometimes sound completely absurd?
‘I’m not laughing at you, we’re laughing together.’ His voice dropped low, roughened more than ever, and as if he’d read her secret thoughts, he drew her hand to his erection, and folded his own hand over it. ‘There’s a big difference.’
Already, the shape of him was familiar to her. Dear. Yearned for. She circled her palm over the hard knot of flesh, experiencing a surge of triumph when he let out a gasp and bumped his hips to meet her touch. He closed his eyes, and she took a step, bringing the two of them close up against each other while her fingers flexed. She smelt his cologne, and the scents of grass and wheat and wildflowers. What a strange tableau they must present. Two people standing in a lane, bodies aligned, holding and touching. As if he were imagining it too, or maybe just savouring the same odours, he breathed in deep.
‘Yes,’ he sighed, kissing her brow, rubbing his chin against her almost like a cat again. His beard felt strangely soft as it brushed against her skin. ‘Yes… yes… touch me.’
She knew what he meant. Touch his skin, not just his jeans. Shaking her other hand free from his, she applied herself to her task, unbuckling his leather belt, then unzipping his jeans. With a tug on his underwear, pushing it down, she freed his cock.
He grabbed her hand then, made her hold him straight away. She would have liked to slide her fingers under his tee shirt and caress his belly, his navel, explore him a little. But it seemed he didn’t want that. He wanted to be held.
© Portia Da Costa and Virgin Books 2009
Available from Amazon.com
Available as an ebook from Portia's
Kindle Store
See also Excerpt 1 of Kiss It Better
