For generations, the Temple of the Deity has kept the people of Heklos safe. But now a new religion is coming, and Abiron and Ariana, priest and priestess of the Deity, must fight to protect their nation.
But what neither of them realize is that mightiest weapon the Deity has in Her arsenal is that of sexual love. Ariana, Abiron, and those whose paths they cross will all be bound up in it, fated to become...
The Guardians of Heklos.
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Start at the waist, Ariana's advice, spoken months ago, whispered in his mind. He laid his hands gently on Angela, taking care to keep his touch feather-light. Stroking, motions slow and sure, he caressed her from hip to where the fan of her ribs began to swell into the proud outthrust of her small breasts. Stepping closer, he ran his hands down the long, strong muscles of her back, stopping short of the taut curves of her buttocks.
In turn, Angela began to explore his body. She drifted her hands down the clean lines of his chest, fingertips exploring him with delight. Her breath began to grow short. Greatly daring, she brought her face close to his neck and nuzzled him while he groaned in pleasure.
Enough, she thought. She came to him, sealing her body against his. She hooked her hands behind his shoulders and brought his sweet mouth down to hers for their first kiss. Boldly she opened her mouth and sought his tongue with hers. She felt his hands firmly grasp the curve of her hips, and in turn sought out the hard muscles of his buttocks. She cupped them in her palms, reveling in the strong feel of him under her hands.
Her hands sought to go lower. Bending her knees, she knelt before him, hands learning how his buttocks gave way to his thighs and thence to his calves. She removed his shoes, and her mouth dipped for a quick kiss on the arches of his feet. Still kneeling, her hands reached up and with sure fingers undid the flies of his breeches. She hooked her fingers in the waistband, and with one abrupt movement pulled his breeches to his feet. Eyes wide, she took in the object of her desire, standing strong and proud, bobbing in front of her face in time with his heartbeat, which she could feel in her palms as they rested on his legs. She licked her lips, staring at it. Her previous encounter, sweet as it was, had been a fumbled, hurried thing. She had had no chance to explore all the possibilities of desire. She looked up at Abiron.
“My friend, will you take me to bed?”
Charlie Griffin had sworn to save himself for marriage. When he met hot, sexy Elena Rodriguez, he thought his prayers had been answered. But then Elena is cruelly taken away from him on their wedding night. Succumbing to despair, Charlie sinks into depression. But he hasn't counted on the willpower of one young woman. Jasmine, Elena's daughter, won't let him throw his life away. She will do anything to claim the love of "My Virgin Daddy."
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Charlie was shivering with pleasure and fear. This was not what he had imagined his first time would be like. Rather than the culmination of weeks of planning after a wedding, he was being seduced by his dead wife's daughter. His eyes feasted on her incredible body, seeing for the first time what he had known unwillingly. Long, slim legs melded into a pair of subtly curved hips, the white lace of her high-cut panties emphasizing her slender waist. Above, her stomach was flat, the dimple of her navel winking at him saucily. The delicate fan of her ribs morphed irresistibly into the lovely curves of her breasts, standing out high and proud from the wall of her chest, obviously not needing the negligible support of her filmy bra.
“Thirty-six C,” she said, catching his look. “A little smaller than Mama's, but then,” she shrugged, “I haven't had any babies yet. They'll probably get a bit bigger when I do.”
“It's all right, Charlie,” she said. “Men like to know.” She stepped closer, until he could feel the heat of her body. “Would you like to go to my room?” she asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Too many memories. I know Mama never slept with you there, but...it would still feel like I was trying to take her place.
“I'm not, you know.” Her face, looking up into his, was solemn. “I know I'm not her. I'm me. But I'm a me who loves you, Charlie. And I don't want you to hurt anymore.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I'm screwing this up. I just...”
Greatly daring, Charlie laid his fingers across her full, kissable lips. His heart was hammering in his chest. Slowly, carefully, he enfolded his stepdaughter in his arms, until their bodies were pressed together. He could feel her soft curves against his bare chest. His arousal was an iron bar inside his slacks, pressing against her bare belly. Jasmine didn't flinch away. Instead, she made a low, growling noise deep in her throat, and her hands reached around him to grab his ass, pulling them even closer together.
Her eyes, when they met his, were shining. “Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
In the spring of 1628, the Witchfinder of Wessex finds himself a true Witch. As Bess Hawksmith watches her mother swing from the Hanging Tree she knows that only one man can save her from the same fate at the hands of the panicked mob: the Warlock Gideon Masters, and his Book of Shadows. Secluded at his cottage in the woods, Gideon instructs Bess in the Craft, awakening formidable powers she didn't know she had and making her immortal. She couldn't have foreseen that even now, centuries later, he would be hunting her across time, determined to claim payment for saving her life.
In present-day England, Elizabeth has built a quiet life for herself, tending her garden and selling herbs and oils at the local farmers' market. But her solitude abruptly ends when a teenage girl called Tegan starts hanging around. Against her better judgment, Elizabeth begins teaching Tegan the ways of the Hedge Witch, in the process awakening memories--and demons--long thought forgotten.
Part historical romance, part modern fantasy, Paula Brackston's New York Times bestseller, The Witch's Daughter, is a fresh, compelling take on the magical, yet dangerous world of Witches. Readers will long remember the fiercely independent heroine who survives plagues, wars, and the heartbreak that comes with immortality to remain true to herself, and protect the protégé she comes to love.
~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
Twenty minute's work with a real shovel put the sidewalk in order, though Nate suspected the whipping wind would drift it all over again with blowing snow before sunrise. Frowning, he took a look at the driveway. Full dark had fallen and cold hard stars glittered in the ink-black sky. He shivered and pulled his cap down tighter around his ears. In weather like this it was easy to believe some of the more lurid tales from American history, where unprepared settlers had to resort to cannibalism to survive.
He re-entered the house, stamping the snow off his boots. “Miss McCormick?” he called. “Heather? I'm back.”
“In here,” her voice called. He followed it down the hallway to a door, cracked open. He tapped on it. “Come in, Nate.”
He opened the door, and stopped, staring.
She was dressed in a robe out of one of her films. No, he quickly corrected himself. She never wore anything that good in any of her films. Not the ones I saw, at least. Rather, it was a gown out of one of his fantasies. Sheer and white, it glittered in the dim light of the bedside lamp, tiny sequins throwing sparks back into his awestruck gaze. It was long, reaching down to her ankles, but the transparent, gauze-like material both hid and revealed her incredible body. He could see her shadowy curves, moving under the cloth like sunken treasure in a deep ocean.
He took a deep breath. He would not, would not, embarrass himself. “Feeling better?”
“Much better,” she smiled. She took a few steps towards him. “Thank you for watching out for me. It was stupid to go out to shovel the walk in weather like this. If I had been thinking straight, I wouldn't have tried it. And I definitely would have stopped once I realized I didn't have the right clothes or shovel to do the job. But I get so damn stubborn sometimes and can't admit I'm making a mistake.”
He felt one side of his mouth curl up in a lopsided smile. “I'm familiar with the idea. I think half the population of South Dakota is descended from people who were too dang mule-headed to realize that living here was a bad choice.”
“Hmmm,” she smiled. She took another slow step towards him. The movement left her only a foot or so away. He wanted to retreat, but his feet seemed frozen in place.
She lifted her hand and let it trace, lingeringly, over the thick sweater he was wearing. “Which leaves us with the question of how to suitably reward you, my hero.”
He swallowed. “Heather. Please. Stop it. I'm not an idiot. I know this isn't one of your films, where the randy housewife gets turned on as soon as the pizza man knocks on the door. Don't tease me this way.”
“No, it's not one of my films.” She looped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “It's better. Should I tell you the story? A lonely woman moves to a town where she doesn't know anyone. She meets a handsome young man who helps her when he could have let her suffer the consequences of her own foolishness. When she is taking a shower, her body recovering from the ordeal, she realizes she is more aroused than she has been in years. Maybe the fact that she could have died has made her realize just how short life is, and how you should reach for happiness when you have the chance. Or maybe she's just a naturally horny woman whose desires have been unnaturally stunted over the past several years.
“Whatever the case may be, she wants you, Nate.
“Do you want me?”
~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
Phoebe sighed. “Owen, sometimes humans really are most remarkably dense.
“Did you really think you could accept the gifts you have been given, go on with your life, and not have to give something in return? For everything there is a price.”
“And what price will I have to pay?” Owen asked tensely.
“Why, belief, dear child. Faith. Eventually, possibly, priesthood. Fortunately,” she said, the smile in her voice clear, “the laws of your nation are amazingly lax. You can set yourself up as a priest of Bacchus and the only thing that will happen is that people will look at you a bit strangely.
“Some of the women you...serve...will be drawn to you. And your new faith. Anaya. Isabel. Samara. Or Wendy, for example. There's a lusty piece of ass. I wish I had known her when I was male. She would be a perfect choice to help lead your new temple. She could draw in converts by the dozen. Male and female both.”
Owen's temper, already frayed, abruptly snapped. “This is ridiculous!” he shouted. “I am not a priest. I am not going to start a church worshiping some long-gone Greek god. I am not going to have a herd of horny women around me who worship Bacchus and bring in converts.”
Phoebe's voice grew cold. “You don't want it, boy? Fine. Take off the bracelet. Throw it away. Throw it all away. Go back to your tedious, soul-sucking job. Beg for hours as a delivery boy, scrape for tips. Live one step up from poverty, if you can.
“Get your precious diploma. Find a job. Marry a woman with goals as small and petty as your own. Accept mediocrity. Deny the possibility of beauty and power and passion.
“And for the rest of your life, you'll always wonder.
The Snow Maid
Bill Carter was starving and dying of exposure when he fell asleep by the standing stone in the Russian Arctic. Sacrificing his life to save his friends, he never expected to wake up, warm, safe and healed, in the presence of the immortal Snow Maid.
Polina had been alone for decades, her youth slowly draining away as belief in her faded in the world above. She had taken Bill's life in trade for those of his companions. Will the heat of their passion ignite an eternal love, or are the differences between them too great?
Professor Brody Wyman had lusted after pretty Tamarin for years, ever since the summer he’d accidentally glimpsed her skinny-dipping down in the creek beyond her family’s farm. But he never dared to cross that forbidden line between fantasy and reality…until her father was killed in a tragic accident, and she turned to him for comfort.
Sexy Little Runaway
Hawke had been living alone for so many years that he’d almost forgotten how incredible sex could be. Now he wasn’t alone anymore—not since he’d found a ragged little runaway hiding in his barn, and realized that she was an outrageously sexy teenage girl!
Having sex really was like riding a bike. No matter how long it had been, your body remembered. And his was coming alive again with a vengeance! How long could he manage to keep his hands off her, before hot lust tore him apart?
Excerpt from Sexy Little Runaway:
Hawke waited until she was gone, then turned the water to icy cold and splashed it across his sweating face. Touching her had been a big mistake. A huge mistake. Now he was going to be hard all night, and he hadn’t suffered that particular malady in too many years to count.
He’d have to take care of the problem himself, in the privacy of his own bedroom, because for sure he couldn’t turn to her for comfort. Someone had abused that poor little kid, and he wasn’t about to compound it by forcing himself on her. No matter how desperately he ached to do just that.
The pots and pans could wait. If he didn’t take care of this little...check that, big...problem right away, he was likely to do something he shouldn’t.
His legs were a little unsteady as he hurried back to his bedroom, and that was something he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time, either. Who could have guessed that, at his age, he could feel as horny as a teenage boy lusting after his first soft girl again?
Never should have turned yourself into a hermit, he thought once his door was securely closed, and he could unzip his worn jeans with a soft moan of relief. You’re too old for seduction, and too young for a second childhood. So where does that leave you?
Panting in his room like an eager virgin as he wrapped his callused fingers around the big chunk of meat that had made his Anna Maria sigh with blissful pleasure. Helluva time it had picked to rise from the dead!
Beating off really was like riding a bike, though, he realized as familiar pleasure began to spiral through his veins. Once you learned, it didn’t matter how old you were. You never truly forgot.
Heat rose in a shocking tidal wave. Why on earth had he ever stopped doing this? Why had he denied himself the amazing pleasure of physical release, as if masturbation was something inherently evil?And he wondered, as he breathlessly waited for his thundering heart to slow, how he was going to survive having a sexy young girl in the house for the next several days…
But Mark and Brianna are not alone. A presence has been watching them. One fateful night, it makes its presence known. Will Mark and Brianna's love be able to survive when she's been…POSSESSED BY THE POLTERGEIST?
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~One hundred years,~ her long-dead aunt whispered. She stopped beside Bree's chair, looking down at her as she shrank away in fear. ~One hundred years of waiting, hoping that the next generation would give birth to a woman who would not throw her maidenhood away like a broken toy. One hundred years, until you came along, Brianna. It is time. I lost my life in anger, furious that my virginity could not be given to my one true love, dead and buried half a world away. Now, through you, I will experience that joy. And if God is kind, he will allow me to leave this world to be reunited with Jimmy in Heaven.~
Brianna's throat worked, caught between pity and terror. “Wait, what?”
Mark was looking at her worriedly. “Bree, are you all right?”
She held her hands up, trying to fend off his questions and a world which was suddenly moving too quickly. Her Aunt Hazel, on the other hand, had no such qualms. As easily as she would step from one room to another, she moved towards her and let her ghostly body merge with Bree's.
~Oh, God,~ a voice sighed in her ear. ~To have a body again. And such a fair one. Thank you, Grandniece.~
To her horror, she heard her voice, sounding thick and slurred when it emerged form her lips. “Mark, I'm tired of waiting. Let's go upstairs and make love.”
Mark leaned back in his chair. His eyes, reflecting the flames of the candles on the table, were wide and panicked. “What? No. No way. Bree, what's wrong with you? You sound terrible.”
No! Her head rang with the echoes of her silent shout. I won't let you do this to me! Caught between opposing forces, her body lurched back and forth in her chair. One moment it tried to rise to its feet. The next it settled back with a thump as one woman or the other gained a momentary advantage.
Mark pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and tried to dial, his fingers shaking. He looked at the screen with disbelief as it refused to follow his commands. Swearing, he jumped up and picked up the land line, finding that completely inoperative as well.
~No electronics.~ Hazel's voice was grimly amused. ~None of the tools or toys you use in this decadent age. Only two people, and their love. And me.~No! How can you do this? How can you violate me by forcing me against my will? Have you no humanity left?
~But I need to!~ Hazel's voice wailed. ~Please! I don't know how much longer I can stay sane! You have no idea how terrible my existence is. How much I hate it. Please, I just need to make love one time, then I can move on. Would you have me become a spirit of anger and hatred, haunting this house until no one is willing to live here? Until it becomes a tottering wreck, filled with rats and vermin, fit only for a bulldozer?~
Then work with me, not against me, Brianna countered. Do you think I don't care about you? God, Aunt Hazel, you're my own blood! And if you have been watching us, you know how much Mark and I care for each other. We are in love. It was only a matter of time before I decided to give myself to him. I chose tonight. If you hadn't blighted the mood, we'd probably be in his bed right now.She took a deep breath, ignoring Mark's frantic dithering. If this is what you need to move on, I will help. But you are going to be a passenger in this body. Not its operator.
Olivia Lee is one of the Changed, driven by her sexual gifts to protect the people of her city from those who would seek to hurt or corrupt others.
But what will happen when she meets one of the most hated and feared Changed of all? Will his tale drive her to aid him, or will she turn her back on one who most needs her sexual assistance?
~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
Opening the door, she stepped into the dim light of the bedroom. Soft jazz played on the radio on the nightstand, and she was pleased to see that Edward had indeed removed his clothes, and was laying on his back on the bed.
If he's a shower, not a grower, I'm still a lucky woman. But if he's a grower, well, I'm going to have one hell of a good night.
The idea that she might not be able to bring Edward to an aroused state never even thought about crossing her mind.
She slowly swayed towards the bed, hips moving in a seductive strut, her breasts bouncing not quite in time to the rhythm of her steps. Smiling, she looked down at him.
“You look about as relaxed as a man about to face the guillotine,” she said. She held up the bottle of oil. “Why don't you turn over and I can give you a massage? And after that,” she said, half laughing, as he rolled over onto his stomach, head pillowed on his arms, “we can see if the irresistible force has any effect on the immovable object.”
From beneath her came a rueful chuckle. He had a nice laugh, she thought. She wondered what he had been like, before the Change blighted his life.
She tossed the towel to one side, uncapped the oil, and poured a generous amount into her cupped hand. She knelt at his knees, her legs straddling him, and softly touched his back, gentle fingers kneading the knots softly, trying to ease the tension in his rigid muscles.
Gradually he began to unwind, his body sinking further into the mattress, his breath coming deeper. His eyes closed, he said in a sleepy murmur, “I've never had my very own geisha before. Did you acquire this skill with the Change?”
“Of course,” she replied easily, pouring more oil down his spine to pool in the small of his back. Her thumbs smoothed oil up his back, then her arms spread wide to run her hands over his shoulders and biceps. He wriggled contentedly under her touch, the curves of his ass flexing, rising up to meet her touch. “What use does a computer programmer have learning massage? None. But the Seductress? She does. And enjoys using those skills.”
She anointed her own body with the fragrant oil, shuddering in bone-deep pleasure as her slick hands rubbed it into her chest and belly. Dropping low, she ran her torso up the length of Edward's back, softly sweeping up the pale skin.
And below her, she felt him begin to respond to her touch, shivers running down his body. At the top of one stroke, she paused, her breath hot in his ear, and her tongue reached out, the tip flicking delicately on the rounded lobe.