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SUITE SEVENTEEN by Portia Da Costa

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

Suite Seventeen - buy from Amazon.comBlurb

Vibrant forty-something widow Annie Conroy is determined to follow her late husband's wishes and start having fun again and living life to the full. At the Waverley Grange country hotel, she encounters the most exotic, sensual and desirable creature she could ever have dreamed of and all thoughts of resistance are completely banished. Is it a man? Is it a woman? Who even cares?

Available from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com


'So, have you obeyed me, Annie?'

Suddenly I need more than an indifferent red wine to fortify me. A hefty belt of gin would be better. My head goes so light that I seem to be floating towards the ceiling. Everything until now seems to have been all in my imagination, and only this moment of erotic connection is reality. I blink at him, imagining that I can see an invisible, silvery link between the two of us, forged by the strange interplay of an ever-tilting power balance.

I lower my head, staring into my glass, and twisting at the folds of my skirt between fingers that are a hot, sticky echo of far stickier zones.

'No… No, I haven't.' My voice comes out tinny and nervous, echoing around the kitchen as if we’re in a cathedral.

When I risk looking up again, Valentino's sculpted face is a picture. He's perfectly stern and his carved, elegant features are formed into the cool lines of a wise mentor who's mildly disappointed with an increasingly hopeless pupil.

But his eyes… oh, his eyes are luminous. They’re as dark as sin, yet brilliant with joy and anticipation. Despite the façade that form demands of him, I know he's elated by my answer.

He takes a measured sip of his unremarkable wine, still watching me. A past master of ratcheting up tension without any apparent effort, he makes me wait, for what seems like an age, before he answers.

‘Now why does that not surprise me?’ His voice is quiet and conversational and I doubt if a casual acquaintance would notice anything untoward about it.

But I do. To me it’s as if he’s just made the most obscene and explicit suggestion, and I blush so hard that I swear I can hear my ears sizzling.

‘I… I’m sorry…’

‘Don’t be. I’m not.’ He allows himself a smile now, and suddenly my heart turns over.

Oh hell… Again, the stark simple truth is hammered home to me, even as his dark eyebrows lift in provocation.

I love him. And my heart twists with bitter-sweet joy as I watch as his glorious face straighten in an obvious effort to get back on track again. He’s no solemn, serious, po-faced master who’s hung up on rituals. This is all fun to him. A sweet, life-enriching game. And he wants to share it with me, and enrich my life too.

‘Lift your skirt,’ he orders quietly, ‘Show me the evidence.’

Abandoning my glass, I ease up the crinkled turquoise folds of my cheap skirt, feeling sweat break out all over my skin as it rises. He’s seen every bit of my body, and sampled it as both a lover and a master, but every time I reveal myself to him has all the impact of the first time. My face heats up like an embarrassed teenaged virgin’s showing herself to a boy she’s crazy about. Clumsily, I bunch my skirt around my waist.

‘Come here… I’d like a closer view.’

I take a step towards him, but he halts me.

‘Bring your drink.’

Skirt in one hand, wine in the other I walk towards him, feeling strange and disorientated. Holding the glass somehow makes the exposure of my barely covered crotch a hundred times ruder. When I reach him, I hang my head, unable to face the brilliance in his eyes. I’m a penitent. A miscreant. Deserving of punishment, not the beneficence of wine.

He reaches out, lifts my chin and makes me look at him, ignoring my exposed crotch and the incriminating thong, and concentrating solely upon my eyes.

He heaves a mock sigh, clinks his glass to mine, and takes another sip from his. ‘Drink up,’ he murmurs, then he switches his glass to his right hand and with his left, he pushes my flimsy underwear aside and dives two long fingers magisterially between my sex-lips.

It doesn’t come as a surprise to me that I’m sopping wet, and when he strokes me, I groan out loud, unable to stop myself.

‘Your wine, Annie,’ he prompts, and I raise the glass to my lips, terrified I’ll choke.

But I don’t. I swallow the rich, fruity fluid, savouring its slightly rough bite as Valentino’s fingers glide back and forth, and my hips weave like a trollop’s, working in sync with him.

He licks a droplet of wine from his lush lower lip, still watching my face as he flicks rudely at my clitoris.

'Delicious…' His head tilts a little and his tongue sweeps again, back and forth, caressing his lip as his finger caresses me.

I can't take it any more. I shove my glass down precariously on the counter, and clasp my fingers over his in defiance. My skirt drops down to cover our hands and I close my eyes to shield them from his gaze.


© Portia Da Costa and Virgin Books 2007

Available from Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com

2007 "Romance: B(u)y the Book" Best Contemporary Erotic Romance
Suite Seventeen by Portia Da Costa
Virgin Black Lace
" Wildly arousing and romantically satisfying. Brace yourself for anything-but-vanilla sexual fantasy — and pleasure!" ~
Michelle Buonfiglio


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