Here is a snippet from my short story,
Windswept, which will appear in
Masquerade, volume 3, available this March from Aphrodite's Apples! In this excerpt -- purposely penned in the vein of the classic "Harlequin deflowering scene" -- Greek wind god Aeolus gives whole new meaning to "breath play". ;)
Brief Blurb:Once a year, the Gods of Olympus host the Masquerade Ball. A select few are invited to fulfill their wildest dreams. When shy mortal Tempest Rayne meets Aeolus, the lonely Keeper of the Winds, two forces of nature collide, making for a stormy encounter, leaving them both…
Windswept.
Excerpt:The man in him knew to be gentle, but the god in him wanted to ravish her.
By the stars of Astraeus, a desirable mortal woman had been delivered unto him, and a virgin who was of age at that—a rarity in the modern world indeed.
Control, Aeolus reminded himself. He must harness his abilities and use them to both his and Tempest's advantage.
Stripped to his trousers, kneeling on the bed beside her, Aeolus began at her wrist. Rounding his lips in a soft pucker, he blew cool air against the pale, delicate skin. As he traveled upward, tracing her veins, he opened his mouth against the crook of her arm and blew warm. He found the smooth cap of her shoulder, lingered there, before winding his way toward her throat. Encouraged by her sharp gasps mingled with feathery sighs, he continued this way down the vee of her dress, alternating between cool and warm, reveling in the power commanded by his gentle teasing.
Aeolus unknotted the dress behind her neck, and the chiffon slid smoothly, exposing her breasts, free of pesky modern undergarments with which he had no experience. Breathing a silent prayer of thanks to the goddesses, he gently squeezed the plump fruit in his hands. He rubbed his thumbs across Tempest's nipples, eliciting more gasps and sighs, sounds which were driving him utterly mad.
With his last shred of discipline, Aeolus held his lust at bay and focused on her pleasure. Lowering his face to her breasts, he flicked his tongue and swirled the tip of one rosy peak. Her nipple wet, he blew cold, tightening the bud further, then he widened his mouth and engulfed her, breathing warm again, warmer, and warmer still. Tempest cried out, her succulent body writhing against him as she thrust her chest forward to meet his ministrations. Drifting across her sternum, guided by the sound of her rapidly beating heart, he offered the same treatment to her other breast.
Tempest's sensuous response deepened. Easing a trace of self-constraint, Aeolus slid her dress down and cast it carelessly aside. With his kiss, he followed the scent of her heat, the rush of her blood. Nearing her navel, his breath grew less teasing, more insistent, and rose from warm to hot. With his teeth, he tugged and lowered the waistband of her silken lace panties. Purposely avoiding where he yearned to kiss her most, he worked her panties down her legs, his mouth tasting and tormenting the delectable flesh of her inner thigh, the crook of her knee, the curve of her calf. Once he had her unclothed, he trailed his lips up the opposite leg to her nest of ginger curls.
Just as he'd expected, her sex readily blossomed and swelled. As he settled on her sweet spot, his breath scorched like fire.
Drinking of the blessed nectar, its honeyed sweetness responsible for countless wars and fallen kings throughout the ages, he plunged his tongue deep. Tempest arched her hips and ground against him. She sang his name, the syllables long and drawn, high and pure.
"Ee-oh-luhs!
Ee-oh-luhs!"As he lapped greedily at the juices filling his mouth, he peered up and watched Tempest's pleasure unfold. Her face flushed scarlet and her eyes burned jade, her brilliant auburn tresses fanned wantonly across the pillows. Aeolus knew she was ripe for the taking. Slipping free of his pants, he slid back up her, the friction between them charged with electricity, and he saw now that her poetic name befitted her perfectly, for as he was indeed a god, then she was truly the tempest, the fury, the all-consuming storm. No longer able to hold back, foregoing any further pretense of gentility, he tore into her and sank his cock to the hilt.
Her cries filled the air; the storm hit the island. With a loud bang, the terrace doors flew open as the sirocco wind invaded the room. Swirling past the gauze bed curtains, hot, humid mist enveloped the lovers, slicking their steamed flesh.
Even as she flinched and bit her lip, Tempest lifted and swiveled her hips to meet his. Her slick velvet heat gripped him tightly, urging his cock on. With a groan of surrender, he fell fully upon her, pinning her to the mattress. His face buried into her hair, he took her exactly as his passion commanded.
**
Windsweptfeatured in
Masquerade, volume 3Copyright 2007 by Katrina Strauss
http://www.katrinastrauss.com/**
