It's here!!! The DARK PANTHEON series has arrived with WICKED OMEN!

Whee! The first Dark Pantheon book, Sherrill Quinn's WICKED OMEN, just released at Ellora's Cave! Come check it out, and stop by darkpantheon.com to learn more about this exciting series!

WICKED OMEN
by Sherrill Quinn

Book one in the Dark Pantheon series
http://www.ellorascave.com/AuthorsBooks.asp?AuthorCode=SQui

They are children of the gods. Half-immortal, yet never whole. Until they find the one we burn to possess for all eternity...

Wicked Omen

In the seventh century B.C., Kalla must pretend to be one of the hated enemy -- a Spartan -- in order to save her family. Her gift of sight has brought her to the attention of her Spartan master, Praxiteles, who is determined to use her to overthrow one of the dual kings of the Spartan monarchy. She has no choice but to play along, or her father and brothers will die.

Nikolaos, an Aresian vampire, is a fierce proponent of one of the Spartan kings -- in direct opposition to the man who threatens Kalla's family. When Praxiteles introduces Kalla as the Spartan's new oracle, Nikolaos is suspicious of her, both because her behavior is inconsistent with that of a Spartan woman but especially because of her association with Praxiteles. However, he can't resist her beauty and intelligence.

When she tells Nikolaos something that happened in a recent battle that no one but one of his men -- in whose fealty he has absolute trust -- could know, he begins to believe her. With his skepticism put to rest, he gives in to his desire for her.

Kalla and Nikolaos must now face a common enemy -- one who threatens both Nikolaos's way of life and Kalla's family. But their happiness is not guaranteed. What will Nikolaos do when he discovers Kalla is involved in the plot to overthrow his king? Can their love overcome the bite of betrayal?

Excerpt

There had been a time not all that long ago when Nikolaos would have welcomed the sting of death, had eagerly anticipated the journey to the Isles of the Blessed where all heroes spent eternity. He was tired of war, tired of the loneliness that ate away at his soul. It wasn't easy, watching those around him grow old and die while he stayed youthful and fit. But in spite of his many headlong rushes into battle, the god of the underworld apparently did not want him.

Nikolaos would have thought one less Aresian on this plane of existence would be a good thing, but it seemed Hades preferred that the vampire descendants of the gods be Zeus' problem instead of his.

"I'd prefer to die in battle," Nikolaos went on, "than at the end of an executioner's axe."

"Aye, my lord." Castor turned away from him and started back the way he'd come.

Nikolaos fell into step beside him. Within moments, they came upon the rest of his troops. He scanned the crowd, at one glance taking in the beaten Helots on their knees with their hands behind their heads, huddled in a group with the tired but victorious Spartoi gathered 'round them. But there was one man missing... "Where's Deucalios?" he asked, referring to his boyhood friend and fellow Aresian vampire.

Castor's throat moved with his hard swallow. "He has fallen, my lord." He gestured toward the rocky knoll that crowned the hill upon which they stood.

In spite of the warmth of the day and his own overheated battle-worn body, a chill iced its way through Nikolaos. With leaden steps, he walked in the direction his lieutenant had pointed.

There, in what clearly had been a killing frenzy, Deucalios lay in pieces. The gaping hole in his chest was further mute testament that the butchers who did this knew how to make sure the Aresian warrior could not be restored to life.

Fisting his hands, Nikolaos went to his knees beside his fallen comrade. His eyes burned with unshed tears, his throat tightened around the howl of grief clawing to be set free. What was the benefit in having near immortality if it only made you a target of vicious attacks like this? Until the heart had been removed from his chest, Deucalios would have been coherent enough to feel every bite of the blade that rendered him asunder.

The only reason Nikolaos could think of for the viciousness of the attack was because, like him, Deucalios was an Aresian.

When Nikolaos returned to Sparta, he would visit the oracle and discover whatever portends she could envision. For now, though, he would avenge his friend. He put his hand palm down in a deep crimson pool of his friend's blood. Then he placed his hand on his brass chest plate, over his heart, marking himself with Deucalios' life essence. "I will avenge you, my brother," he muttered, bowing his head.

Grief turned to an all-consuming rage that brought back his bloodlust. A red haze colored his vision. He jumped to his feet and returned to the captives. His nostrils flared as he sought out those who had brought Deucalios to such an ignoble death.

He paused in front of each enemy soldier, breathing deeply, taking in the multitude of scents that fierce battle always brought. The coppery smell of blood, the pungent tang of sweat, the stench of fear. But there was one particular aroma he sought�the same scent that wafted to his nostrils from the bloody palm print on his chest.

Deucalios cried out for vengeance.

Get your copy of WICKED OMEN today!
http://www.ellorascave.com/AuthorsBooks.asp?AuthorCode=SQui

Explore the Dark Pantheon at http://www.darkpantheon.com

Wicked Witch of the West Village-out now

"Wicked Witch of the West Village"
By Anna J. Evans
Ellora's Cave-Exotica
Super Plus novel-paranormal, erotic

http://www.ellorascave.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419914768

BLURB:

Life's a bitch and so is Gail Teril, evil romance editor by day, failed heroine of her own life by night. She's the wicked witch of the West Village and she likes it that way…or at least likes it enough to avoid the scary process of trying to change her wicked rep.

But when a violent nut allergy at a writers' conference sends Gail into a coma and she wakes up in an alternate dimension, she has no choice but to take a hard look at her new life and herself. In a very adult somewhere over the rainbow peopled by sexy barbarian lovers, an evil zombie-making fiend and a green skinned man she knows she could come to love, Gail learns that sex can sometimes lead to power, but only her heart will lead her home.

EXCERPT:

I followed Kathy into the small conference room, feeling like the lowest form of dog shit as I thought back on our conversation and its probable implications. If Kathy said it, it had to be true. Kathy was nice, Kathy was a fantastic friend and Kathy never told a lie. If she said Richard was beyond retrieval she had to be right.

The realization made my stomach twist in an angry knot around my black coffee and two cinnamon rolls.

I'd lost him. I'd really lost him and only now did I understand I probably loved Richard, no matter how many times I'd dismissed him when he pressed me to make some grand declaration. Now he was gone and a part of me wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and never come out again.

It was horribly melodramatic and self-loathing inducing, which made me struggle to find someone else to blame. Luckily, a target soon presented itself.

As I sat behind the table and gazed out at the over-eager faces of at least a hundred romance writers, I had to resist the urge to start throwing rotten tomatoes. It was their fault, those damn women who wrote those damn books that I read in spite of myself.

I was an editor of romantic fiction, it was my job to read romance novels, but I didn't have to enjoy them as much as I did. I didn't have to purchase all the newest titles from my favorite authors to take home and savor over the weekend in the name of market research or reread my keeper-shelf novels until the front covers were tattered.

The prolonged exposure had obviously rotted my brain. I should have stuck to my guns in my early twenties until I was transferred to the literary fiction division. But I had stayed in romance, snuggled in like a pig in shit until I was the head editor honcho at the tender age of thirty-two, the top dog on the steaming pink pile of lovey-dovey nonsense that was the romantic fiction department.

So young to be so successful…and so increasingly bitter.

"Welcome and thank you so much for coming to learn more about Handler and Handler." Kathy's bright blue eyes shone warmly out at the audience as if she actually gave a shit that anyone had shown up. She probably did, she was nice. "I'm associate editor Kathy Hewitt, and this is Gail Teril, executive editor."

I waved my hand in brief acknowledgement of my name, then pretended great interest in the folder in front of me as Kathy proceeded to outline the new directions Handler and Handler were hoping to take our Visions of Love line.

I, for one, wanted to start by outlawing anything having to do with vampires--what the fuck is romantic about a man who wants to feed off you like a leech while he moans about his tortured immortality? I also wanted to do away with heroines who weren't at least twenty-three or who hadn't slept with a minimum of four men before Mister Right.

What woman these days hasn't had at least four lovers before she settles down for the happily ever after? Now I'm sure there are some exceptions, but even my brother's new wife--originally from Georgia, sweet as a peach, inside the Baptist Church every time they open the doors--confessed to me that she had three guys before Rick. I had to get her pretty tipsy on wine coolers before she shared the info, but I proved my point, at least to myself.

I was also more than a little tired of the "sweet as pie" crap. Why could the hero be a big jerk who needed "love's tender caress" to "set him free", but the heroine was always a near virgin who saved whales for a living, ran a soup kitchen in her spare time and took in homeless animals and domestic abuse victims? All while teaching the hero how her generous and perfect soul could help even a rake like him learn to love, of course?

Not to mention she's also stunningly gorgeous with perfect tits, no cellulite, skin that's smooth and pore-less sans makeup and no body hair in undesirable places in addition to being the next Mother Mary. I have issues with the omission of body hair maintenance in my novels. You never read about a romance heroine having to wax her moustache. As a half-Cuban woman who inherited more from my mom than thick, shiny, luxurious dark brown locks on my head, I would appreciate my heroine having to work a little to be so goddamned perfect.

But everyone else seems to want the heroine to be beyond reproach, other editors and readers included. I was the only one with a problem. I couldn't identify with most heroines because I was a cranky slut jerk who should have been born an alpha male. If I had, then maybe I would have found a sweet Georgia peach like my younger brother or a sassy, incredibly loyal scriptwriter like my older one. If I'd been a boy, maybe I would have already been tamed by love and become contented with venting my crankiness at work like the rest of the penis-owning half of the population.

Too bad I'd been born a gal and a straight gal on top if it. Double too bad most men weren't into putting forth the effort to break through my gruff exterior to find the diamond in the rough underneath. Triple too bad most men didn't find my take-no-prisoners-get-up-in-your-face-and-call-you-a-cock-sucker attitude particularly sexy.

A shame, that. Girls just love an aloof, bossy, unattainable "bad boy". But what about "bad girls"? Was I a bad girl?

You're the Wicked Witch of the West Village.

I hated my subconscious sometimes. Especially when it was right, even more especially when I'd just screwed up a relationship with a guy who thought my potty mouth was "cute" and had the guts to tell me to shut up from time to time and really make me listen.

Especially when his dick was so unbelievably wondrous and you're never going to get to roll around in bed with him EVER AGAIN.

"I'll take that question," I said with a forced smile, deciding that sharing my opinions on the future trends in romantic fiction was better than sitting there stewing in my own horrible thoughts.

Of course, that's where I made my next stupid mistake. Never open your big mouth unless you're prepared to put your short, fat foot in it.

Fan the Flames...
http://annajevans.com
Ms. Evans is an author who could quickly become habit-forming!
-The Romance Studio

Jewels of the Nile 2 out today!

http://www.ellorascave.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=9781419916540

BLURB:

Sexy men, magic, and mayhem…oh my!

Gelsey is grateful to land a gig as costume mistress for a theatre. She simply wants to hide from the dark forces that pursue her. She never plans on falling for the sexy, surly Tin Man, the character every Wizard of Oz fan knows has no heart.

Stephen has finally found the woman destined to be his. Now only one night of danger, a little sex magic and Gelsey's stubborn refusal to admit she's his stand in his way. But Stephen won't give up. He'll have Gelsey, giving her such pleasure she'll have no choice but to surrender.

EXCERPT:

There was music playing, faint fiddle music that reminded Gelsey of home. Ireland, the only home she’d ever known. She could practically smell the soda bread her mother was cooking, feel the cool stone floor beneath her bare feet. She’d only been six years old when her parents had died and the executor of their estate put her on a plane to America. Sometimes she had a hard time remembering their faces, but she could remember the smell of the herb lotion her mother made in her huge vat on the stove, and the way her dad’s eyes wrinkled around the edges when he grinned.

“Gelsey. Wake, little witch, the sun sets and the Rite must begin.”

As soon as the male voice spoke, the music in her head fled with dizzying swiftness, only to fade back in, softly, when a warm summer breeze swept over her bare skin. It felt so delicious to experience the wind this way, without any clothes between her and the—

“Where are my clothes?” She sat up fast, eyes flying open as her arms crossed over her breasts. Her first instinct was to jump to her feet and make a naked run for it, back to the theatre, when she saw him. All of him. “Better question, where are your clothes?” She meant for the words to be harsh, accusatory, but they came out breathy, an unmistakable invitation.

“Can you really call that thing ‘clothes’? It itches something fierce.” He sat cross-legged on the simple brown blanket, as naked as the day he was born, a huge mixing bowl cradled between his legs. “Felt like I was wearing wool pantyhose clear up to my neck.”

“How do you know what pantyhose feel like?”

“Good question. But if I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He smiled, a wicked grin that lit up his face and transformed the usually handsome Mackenzie Fellows into something extraordinary. He was gorgeous, he was naked, he was showing signs of a sense of humor and he’d kidnapped her for some sort of kink-fest out in the woods. On the surface, it was exactly what she’d wanted from this man.

So why was her every instinct still screaming that she should get up and run—fast—and not stop until she was leaving the state of Indiana?
Maybe because he did actually kidnap you! And strip your clothes off while you were unconscious and take his own clothes off too and now—

“Mac, this is very…flattering, but—”

“Stephen. My real name is Stephen. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but you didn’t seem able to keep a secret to save your life.” He smiled as he said the words, but they still stung. What did he know about her? Or her ability to keep secrets?

“Excuse me, but what the hell do you know about—”

“You talked non-stop about the entire casts’ business while you were fitting me. I assumed you did the same with everyone else. I couldn’t risk telling you too much.” He dipped a finger into the bowl between his legs and began casually tracing a red symbol on his bare chest—which she couldn’t help but notice had the perfect amount of chest hair, not too much, not too little. Not to mention that he was muscled like a warrior, not a musical theatre performer. Mac—Stephen looked like he could handle himself in the ring, or on the battlefield if the faint scars marking his skin were any indication.

Gelsey felt another whisper of unease raise the hairs at the back of her neck. There was something wrong here, something more than a man reluctant to reveal he had a stage name.

“In fact, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you speechless.” He grinned again and anger quickly banished her fear.

“I talked non-stop because you stood there glaring at me and—”

“I never glared,” he said, glaring.

“You did! You always—”

“I wouldn’t glare at a woman, especially not one so terribly important to me. Or so beautiful.” A trace of an Irish accent, a trace she’d heard before, found its way into his voice, making her shiver. Then she met his eyes, eyes filled with passion and, more surprisingly, sincerity, and shivered again.

“Are you ever going to let me finish a sentence?” Gelsey swallowed hard and fought the desire beginning to unfurl low in her belly. She was glad she’d kept her hands in front of her breasts. At least he couldn’t see how her nipples tightened, aching for him to touch them, for him to trace crazy red symbols over her body and then follow the path with his tongue.

“I just did.” He finished the final mark with his finger, closing off the last in a series of four triangles, each pointing in a different direction. “Now it’s your turn. Will you become the bone of my bones, the flesh of my flesh, making us one flesh bound by—”

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” Gelsey leapt to her feet, no longer caring if Stephen caught a glimpse of her thigh dimples as she turned and fled. The man was insane, probably a serial killer from the sound of it. She’d been a fool to sit there as long as she had. “Flesh of my flesh” didn’t sound like any foreplay she’d ever heard of. No matter how much she wanted this man, she needed to haul tail back to civilization, reality, any place where she had more sense than to let her hormones lead her straight into an unmarked grave.

c. 2008 Anna J. Evans

Sierra's first author outing!

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Red Garnier Joins DNW!

Deliciously Naughty Writers is excited to welcome Red Garnier to our ranks. Red's first book, Spin Devil, was released in May 2007 from Ellora's Cave and it received a Recommended Read from Fallen Angel Reviews!

Red writes fun and sexy erotic contemporaries as well as paranormals that can range from dark and emotionally intense to witty and fun.

Here are just a few of her books:

Phillip Gaston Maxwell has been a vampire for one hundred years, a long life where hot sex has certainly not been lacking. But lately Phillip is starting to feel bored. Only his luscious friend Anna can truly fulfill him, but while Anna shares her body, her heart is locked tight. So Phillip's attention has turned to his latest obsession, Daniel — but how can a bisexual vampire seduce a handsome, reportedly straight Incubus?

A bachelor party — with Anna willingly providing "entertainment" — and a little help from a concoction called Sin may just produce the excitement he's looking for.

Read an excerpt or buy.

Lured years ago from her home on Earth, Liana has seen countless natives mercilessly killed by humans in their search for planet Oriana's riches. When the Foher warrior Kavi kidnaps her during his escape, he unwittingly takes the humans' greatest asset — and awakens Liana's strongest lusts.

For years the Fohers have sought the same treasure — Amatista. Only by finding the mystical river of amethysts will Kavi and his people be safe. But Kavi doesn't realize his human captive, with her lush body and eager responses, is more than just a distraction — she is the key to finding the very treasure he seeks.

Read an excerpt or buy.

I take thee, in sickness and in health, 'til death do us part...

It was only last year that Marcus and Marly Forrester spoke their wedding vows. Now a year into their marriage, there's trouble in paradise. More trouble than Marcus would like. Apparently his wife is in heat. Like a lion, a tiger, a beast. She's pained, she's suffering, and Marcus can do little about it except...mate. With her. As often as she wants it, as hard as she wants it.

Doctor's orders, in fact. But Marcus is no porn-star, no super hero. Hell, he's just a man, determined to keep his woman happy. And he'll do anything for Marly. Including hiring on the assistance of a third party...

Read an excerpt or buy.


Welcome to DNW, Red!

"Deep Cover" by Anna J. Evans 2/29 release!

"Deep Cover"
By Anna J. Evans
February 2008 from Ellora's Cave



BLURB:

In a dangerous new world where human fragility is a priceless commodity to brutal alien Dominanats, being a submissive can mean taking your life in your hands. The very idea makes alien ops agent Samantha's skin crawl. She's a woman in charge--in bed and out--and only fear for the life of her partner, Calen, could convince her to pretend otherwise.

When Calen goes undercover as an alien Dom in one of New York City's most violent S and M parlors, Samantha knows she has to folllow and pose as his submissive. For Calen, she'd risk anything, even discovering the lifestyle she thinks she abhors might actually be the stuff of her most wicked fantasies...

EXCERPT:

She’d had a few sips of a stiff drink at the bar—a Long Island Iced Tea the bartender had called it, claiming it was a favorite near the turn of the century with college kids looking to get the most alcoholic bang for the buck—but that couldn’t explain the rush Sam was feeling as she lifted her arms, allowing Calen to chain her wrists to manacles on the wall behind her. After all, she’d never get intoxicated while on a mission, at least not on alcohol.

As far as her hyperactive hormones were concerned, however, she wasn’t sure she was going to have any choice. Just breathing near Calen right now made her higher than she’d ever been on a controlled substance.

“Now don’t move, not until I give you permission,” he said, his strangely golden eyes boring into hers with a heat that made her already accelerated breath come even faster.

Even knowing they were only colored contacts couldn’t dispense with her fascination with Calen’s new eyes. They were gorgeous, captivating, much like the rest of Calen in his Mage Dom gear. The soft leather vest fit him like a glove, outlining every perfectly sculpted muscle beneath. The equally tight black pants left nothing to the imagination, letting her know just how exciting Calen was finding their first few minutes in the playroom. He was magnificently hard, his cock straining against the leather, making her traitorous pussy leak with a constant, insistent need.

Her thong had been drenched even before they’d entered the club, now it was barely capable of containing her juices. The evidence of her desire would be leaking down the inside of her thighs any moment, but for some reason the thought didn’t make her ashamed. Instead, it excited her, just as the playroom itself with its dark red velvet walls and dim lighting excited her, just as the music the Mage had chosen, a deep throbbing Celtic-inspired techno excited her. It was as if Club Magan had been constructed from her sexiest dreams, and Sam was finding it all too easy to relax into her role.

Even knowing that Mage mind control could be responsible for intensifying her craving for this experience couldn’t dull her desire, especially not when Calen began to run gentle hands over her body, tracing her curves with a reverence she prayed was real. For all she knew, he had touched Kit the same way, teased the tiny blonde’s nipples through her leather corset, drug down the zipper of her skirt with the same trembling hands. But Sam chose to believe this night was as mind-blowing for Calen as it was for herself.

Believing anything else would shatter her, and she couldn’t afford to be shattered right now. There was enough of her right mind left to remember that, to remember the mission to free Elena and to choose to allow herself to pretend there was no Kit, only she and Calen, partners as they had always been.
“Turn around,” Calen ordered, his breath coming in quick bursts against her lips. He was so close Sam’s nipples nearly brushed against the front of his chest, as if he was shielding her from the rest of the room, not wanting to share her with even the eyes of the alien men.

“Yes, Sir,” Sam replied, a surge of feminine power sweeping over her as a muscle in Calen’s jaw leapt in response.

They’d discussed that she should address him as Master or Sir, but this was the first time she’d used the deferential word. Strangely, it made her feel powerful, desirable, not inferior. Or maybe it was the passion in Calen’s eyes as she slowly spun on her chains that made her lips curl in a small smile. Sam could safely say she’d never felt so beautiful, so desired in all her life. At that moment, as Calen tugged her skirt down to the floor and urged her to step free of the garment, she felt like a sexual siren, a woman capable of bringing men to their knees with want for her.

Apparently, Calen felt the same way.

She moaned as he took her hips in his wide, strong hands and knelt on the floor behind her, bringing his mouth close enough to her ass that she could feel his breath on her skin. Her pussy clenched fiercely around its own emptiness, craving Calen’s hands, his mouth. Or better yet that thick cock she’d felt pressed so tightly against her out in the street. But it seemed he had other ideas.

First his tongue traced delicate swirls around one globe of her exposed bottom, feathering in gentle circles that made the ache between her legs intensify more quickly than she would have dreamed. By the time he’d given the same attention to the other side of her ass, Sam was panting with need, unable to resist the temptation to tilt her hips, arching just enough to urge Calen to attend to the slick, weeping channel that pulsed with hunger for him.

Calen’s response—swift, hard smacks on the relaxed flesh of her ass—was a complete surprise. Her body’s electrified reaction to the spanking, however, was a flat out shock.

A sound escaped from her parted lips, but it wasn’t a gasp of pain, it was the thick, impassioned cry of a woman close to coming harder than she’d ever come before. Her nipples tightened to the point of pain and every inch of her skin buzzed with awareness, a high she’d never felt, not a day before in her life.

“I said, don’t move. Not until I give you permission.” Calen’s voice was deeper than she’d ever heard it, husky with emotion and lust. Lust for her. That knowledge alone was almost enough to tip her over the edge. “And don’t come,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I’ll tell my pussy when she can come. Do you hear me, Samantha?”

“Yes, Sir,” Sam said, surprised at how blissful she sounded.

“Good girl.” He rewarded her obedience by tugging her thong down her legs and—once she’d stepped free of the drenched scrap of fabric—bringing his hand between her legs. “Fuck, Sammy, you’re so wet.”

The words came out as a groan as he let his fingers play through her swollen folds, teasing in and out of her opening, first one finger and then two. Then, after instructing her to spread her legs wider, three fingers. Three of Calen’s thick fingers stuffing into her, in and out, in and out, until her pussy felt bruised by the burden of withheld release. But she would not allow herself to come, not until Calen allowed it. Sam instinctively knew she wouldn’t find any real pleasure from a stolen release, that only pleasure commanded by Calen, pleasure that pleased her Master would fulfill the bone deep ache in her body and soul.

Sam! What are thinking, listen to yourself. Listen…

But the voice of reason was a weak, pitiful thing indeed when compared to the feel of Calen’s lips parting around her bottom flesh, taking her ass into the warm heat of his mouth and biting down. His teeth sunk in, deeper and deeper, until there was pain, pain that highlighted the pleasure he was giving her between her legs like neon behind the letters of a marquee.


Fan the Flames...
http://annajevans.com
Ms. Evans is an author who could quickly become habit-forming!
-The Romance Studio

New Release from SHERRILL QUINN

Available today at Ellora's Cave!


WARNING: This is an adult excerpt. *Not* child or work friendly.




Rahziya Sanura, princess of Gar, and Callum Hefeydd, prince of Apth--two people in love but separated by feuding kingdoms. Their one hope for unification--both for themselves and their countries--is the legendary Jewel of Apthgar, a 6-inch long amethyst said to have come from the great god Apthgar's sword. Sent by their respective fathers to retrieve the gem, they must first defeat the dragon guarding it.

Will the Jewel provide the means for them to be together, or will it drive them apart?

~ * ~

Princess Rahziya Sanura, heir to the Garan throne, stood as witness to the latest marriage ceremony between two noble houses and tightened her lips at the unfairness of it all. Why could a duke of Gar and a countess of Apth get married, yet her father continued to forbid her to have anything to do with Prince Callum?

She smoothed her elegant gown over her hips and glanced over the heads of the bride and groom to the Apthian delegation. Her gaze met Callum Hefeydd’s and, as always, her pulse zoomed at the look of banked desire in those gray-green eyes. If it weren’t for her father’s—and, admittedly, Callum’s parents as well—continued resistance to a reunification of the kingdoms, this could be her and Callum declaring their love publicly.

“With the vows spoken and approval given by these witnesses, there is but one more stage to complete.” The magi took the hands of the nude bride and groom and joined them, keeping his on top of them. His solemn gaze went first to the couple, then to the assembled guests. “One of the joys of being a magi to the people is the task of conducting unification ceremonies such as these. To be used by the great god Apthgar to bless these young people’s union is both a privilege and an honor.”

Knowing what was coming, Rahziya swallowed and tried to calm her breathing. She always became so aroused at these ceremonies, and with Callum standing just on the other side of the small circle, this particular union would be unbearable to witness.

The magi unfastened a few of the loops holding his robe together, then shrugged the purple and blue garment off his shoulders. The clothing pooled around his feet, leaving him as naked as the bride and groom. At his nod, the couple knelt at his feet. First the bride kissed the magi’s penis, then the groom. Accepting a cup from a nearby neophyte, the magi drank the contents. Immediately his cock began to engorge, becoming erect in a matter of a few seconds.

“I humbly offer myself in the place of our god, sanctifying this union and offering myself in place of the Jewel of Apthgar.” The magi took a step back. The bride and groom stretched out on a large pad at his feet.

The dark-haired groom pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his bride’s lips then trailed his mouth down her neck to her breasts. He began suckling her, moving from one rigid tip to the other, and stroked one hand between her thighs.

The woman moaned and bent her legs, her knees falling apart to open herself more fully. She brought her hands up to the man’s head and clasped him to her breast.

As the groom began thrusting his fingers into the bride’s pussy, his thumb rotating against her swollen clit, Rahziya drew in a sharp breath. She clenched her thighs together to try to stem her own rising arousal. She took her gaze off the couple and looked up to find Callum’s heated stare on her.

His face was impassive but for the banked fire in his eyes. From her peripheral vision she could see the bride and groom repositioning themselves, the groom going to his back with the bride straddling him, taking his hard length into her sheath.

Rahziya couldn’t break her gaze away from Callum. The gasping cries and moans of the wedding couple only heightened her own frustrated desire for the enemy prince. The man she loved.

The man she could never have.

Copyright 2008 Sherrill Quinn. All Rights Reserved.


Jewel of Apthgar - available at Ellora's Cave!