LESSONS AND LOVERS
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
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Blurb
Lover after dark…
By day, he's the perfect personal assistant, bodyguard, chauffeur… but when the lights go down, he's a devastating sex machine, using his hands, his lips and his breath-taking body to drive his employer to the very limits of pleasure.
Wealthy young widow Hettie Miller loved her husband, but night after night, she's tormented by desire. Lonely and confused she turns to Starr, her faultless servant, the man whose cool reserve and discretion hide the wild, hard-driving soul of a sensualist.
But does Starr really care for her, or is he simply performing his duties, as supreme between the sheets as he is elsewhere? Hettie hopes for more… because she's falling, and Starr's rocking her world.
Originally published by Ellora's Cave. New selfpublished reprint 2012
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Excerpt
Starr fell back against the mat, his breathing heavy and his near-naked body streaming
with sweat. How many sit-ups had he done? He couldn't remember. He only knew that
no amount of hard physical exercise could purge his mind this time.
He lay there for a moment, centering himself, then rose quickly and reached for
the bottle of mineral water on the tallboy. Drinking deep, he attempted to focus
on his body and gauge his levels of energy and fitness, but all he could really
think about was Hettie and what she might be doing with-and saying to-the Italian.
"You're jealous, man," he whispered to himself, then smiled grimly at
the enormity of the understatement. He'd seen the way his adored Hettie had looked
at di Angeli. And while he'd told himself ferociously that it was not his place
to even have an opinion on the matter, he couldn't suppress the gouging surge
of sexual envy he experienced each time he'd seen Hettie cast an interested glance
at her new houseguest.
Don't be a bloody fool!
He took another long drag at the water bottle, then put it aside and peeled off
the thin, perspiration-soaked jersey trunks he'd been working out in.
In his tiny bathroom, he spun the showerhead and bared his teeth as he stepped
beneath the punishing, brutally ice-cold flow. The water should have dowsed his
turbulent emotions and calmed his wayward body, as it so often had before when
his longing for Hettie had become unmanageable. But this time the regime was ineffective.
His mind and his heart whirled, and despite the confusion of his thoughts and
the freezing shower, his cock grew rigid.
"Fuck!" he growled, then spun the dial to a more comfortable temperature.
Why suffer when the prescription wasn't working? Why suffer any more than he already
was? Than he always did.
In his fantasy, the woman he loved, the woman he would do anything for, endure
anything for, give anything for, stepped into the cubicle and drew close to him.
The now-warm water streamed over her lush but slender body and plastered her lovely
mane of gold-brown hair against her skull. Starr groaned like a martyr in torment
as a hand closed around his penis. In his dream it was her hand but in reality
it was his own.
He had loved Henrietta Miller from the instant he'd first set eyes on her, but
if he were to remain an honorable man and worthy of the trust that Piers Miller
had placed in him, he could never claim her. He was sworn to protect Hettie and
to take care of her-even service her libido when it was required of him-but no
more than that. He was her servant and she was his mistress. He knew that his
rigid adherence to his role might seem archaic in the twenty-first century, but
he'd made a pledge to himself. A pledge in honor of the man who had raised him
from the gutter-and from the easy slide into petty, then more serious crime-which
he could not break.
The vow was that he would never take advantage of what he and Hettie shared. Never
pressure her for more. He wanted and needed her love. It was a glittering prize
that shimmered constantly in his imagination. But to pursue it so soon after the
death of Piers Miller was to insult his mentor's memory and exploit Hettie's confused
emotions and her grief at the loss of her husband. She'd loved Piers deeply, and
still loved him. She'd been faithful to him emotionally, even while she'd shared
her body with Starr. And that was why he could not claim her.
And yet there was a primitive, territorial part of him that raged to make her
his in every way. Heart and soul as well as body. His ancient brain, where instinct
held sway, told him that she was his woman and he must imprint himself on every
part of her.
I am not a fucking caveman!
He still felt guilt at giving in to his needs the other night. But the urge to
show her some physical tenderness after the long months of their mutual celibacy
had become too great. And it had finally driven him back to her bed.
His fingers stilled for a moment on his cock at the recollection. He'd barely
been able to contain the bittersweet joy he'd experienced when she'd welcomed
him. He'd hidden it scrupulously, but as he'd entered her exquisite body, his
heart had been singing.
Yes, he was proud of his iron self-discipline, and it never failed him. He couldn't
allow it to. Except at private moments like these, when there was nobody but himself
and his aching cock to witness his internal agony.
"Oh Hettie, I love you!"
His voice was a ragged, falling cry of longing as her phantom hand rode smoothly
back and forth along his engorged rod. His heart twisted as he imagined-remembered-her
delicate yet intoxicating touch on his flesh and the way she always and unerringly
found the sweetest and most responsive spots. Time after time he'd had to pry
her warm fingers off him for fear that he might come in selfishness and not pleasure
her at the same time. He'd made yet another oath to himself that his agenda in
bed would always be to focus solely on her experience, her satisfaction and her
orgasms, even at the expense of his own. If he came in the process, it was a treasured
by-product, not the object of the exercise.
But here in this secret zone where wishes could be real, he allowed himself what
he denied elsewhere. Here in his imagination, his naked, adorable mistress sank
to her knees beneath the cascading water and took his heavy flesh between her
moist, caressing lips. Here, it was all right to give in to his every desire and
urge and grasp her head, fingers digging into her sensuously coiling hair as he
thrust unrestrainedly into the welcoming heat and wetness of her mouth. Here,
it was all right to fuck that beautiful mouth, possess that loving, accommodating
cavern and then empty his silky load of semen right down her throat.
"Oh Hettie," he cried again, the words a sound of worship, of desperation
and of resignation as his creamy tribute hit the shower wall and mingled with
the water trickling down it.
© Portia Da Costa 2013
Print from:
Amazon.com :: Amazon.co.uk :: Barnes and Noble
Digital from:
Amazon :: US :: UK
iBooks :: US :: UK
Also from :: Nook :: Kobo :: Smashwords
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