She left her clean clothes and wool towel by the ship wall and began to take off her old, sweaty outfit. The cool sea breeze caused her nipples to harden and goose bumps to dance across her tanned skin. She grinned and shut her eyes before reaching behind her and undoing her bun, allowing her sweaty hair to fall down her back to her butt. As she stood there, she almost felt like the wind was seducing her.
It's been too long, she thought, opening her eyes and gazing at the stars. I really need to take a lover for a night at the next port.
She walked over to the rope ladder and looked down into the sea below. Without bothering to use the ladder, she swung her legs over the side, clutching her bar of soap to her fat breasts, and lunged off the boat.
Tomas crept around and hid at the back of the boat behind some barrels where it was surprisingly empty. The sound of splashing quickly drew his attention. Curiously, he peeked over the side of the ship, expecting to see a fat fish jumping in the water, but instead he saw something else. It was Marmalade. Naked Marmalade.
He gasped and tried to stop looking before he got caught, but he couldn't. This was the first time he truly believed he had met a siren, or at the very least, a mermaid.
Even beneath the water, Tomas could see that Marmalade's breasts were large and fat. By the moonlight, he saw her golden hair flowing around her in the water, encasing her in a mystic, beautiful veil. He gasped and shuddered.
Marmalade moved toward the side of the boat and out of sight, and Tomas moaned, angry at himself for fantasizing about the enemy. As he leaned his head back, he heard more splashing and then banging by the side of the boat. Marmalade appeared again, much closer this time. Her golden hair fell down past her waist, clinging to her gorgeous sea drenched skin. Her eyes were no longer sharp but appeared mellow and refreshed, just as he imagined she would look after being bedded. Her lips were partially opened as she expelled a relaxed sigh.
He could imagine taking her roughly, just as she craved, until she screamed his name. She would never smart mouth him again after that.
The Vicar’s Son is the second novella in Catherine Lloyd’s Edwardian Lovers Trilogy where the intertwined fates of three families began with a murder three years ago. Set in a charming English village at the start of the “Gilded Age,” high society was controlled by strictly defined rules governing interaction between the sexes. Inspired by the television series, Downton Abbey, the trilogy contains spicy love scenes written for a mature audience.
The Killer’s Son is the first novella in Catherine Lloyd’s Edwardian Lovers Trilogy where the intertwined fates of three families begin with a murder three years earlier. Set in a charming English village at the start of the “Gilded Age,” high society was controlled by strictly defined rules governing interaction between the sexes. Inspired by the television series, Downton Abbey, the trilogy contains steamy love scenes written for a mature audience.
When Carly visits Norway, she stops by the Museum to check out the viking exhibit. Tall, blonde, and muscular, vikings have always had a place in Carly's fantasies. Her curiosity leads her to the backroom of the museum, where she spots an unusual artifact.
As soon as she touches it, she finds herself transported to a far off land. When she runs into a clan of wild, lust-filled vikings she realizes that she hasn't just teleported - she's gone back in time.
The vikings understand she's an untouched beauty, so they'll take her to their chief to be his bride... but only after the entire well-hung group take turns impregnating her!
An aborted love affair was the cause of Lauren’s reclusive lifestyle. She vowed never to be hurt again, and would never give her heart away as she had done too many times in the past. No chances would be taken again in the arena of love.
Then the unbelievable happened. It was a big deal for the central plains, especially so close to Christmas. An earthquake had hit, a 5.8 shocker of a quake. Lauren was busy dusting up the fallen plaster when there was a knock on the door.
“It’s Mrs. Smathers. May I come in, dear?” Evidently one of the other tenants had called her to report the damage.
“I’ll have an electrician stop by to fix the problem as soon as possible if that’s okay with you.”
Although Lauren was less than thrilled about her privacy being breached, she had to let some stranger named Don inside her quiet abode.
When Don arrived, it took less than an hour to complete the task, and he also re-spackled and re-painted the walls.
“If you turn on the ceiling fan, the walls should quickly dry enough to re-hang your pictures. May I take a shower before I rescue my overalls from the dryer?”
“Sure. Towels are on the shelf.”
While Don showered, Lauren mixed a pitcher of martinis, something she hadn’t done since her bad breakup, and was waiting for Don when he emerged from the bathroom. “For a job well done!”
Don set his martini on the end table and plopped down into Lauren’s vibrating chair. He flicked the switch and the vibrations started. With Lauren standing in front of him, he immediately began to stiffen. “If I had this chair, I’d be sitting in it every night. I’m so relaxed. Care to join me?”
That was too much for Lauren to pass up. The sight of the painter with his sexy nipples, pleasure trail of hair, delicious looking manhood jutting out through the towel, caused her wall of isolation to crumble. She bounded into the chair and had her lips pressed tightly against Don’s. She had forgotten the excitement a kiss could bring… the anticipation of more bodily satisfaction. The feeling of a stiff one inside of her, the scent of a man… all the things years of isolation had buried deep inside her memory rushed to the surface.
West is a man with a tarnished past. No apologies, no excuses. However, from the moment he meets Phoebe, West is consumed by irresistible desire...not to mention the bitter awareness that a woman like her is far out of his reach. What West doesn’t bargain on is that Phoebe is no straitlaced aristocratic lady. She’s the daughter of a strong-willed wallflower who long ago eloped with Sebastian, Lord St. Vincent—the most devilishly wicked rake in England.
Before long, Phoebe sets out to seduce the man who has awakened her fiery nature and shown her unimaginable pleasure. Will their overwhelming passion be enough to overcome the obstacles of the past?
Only the devil’s daughter knows…
(Note: This book was previously released as Captive Surrender. It has been restored to its original content, including more than 7K additional words, and re-edited.)
Carmella had always been curious about the eerie looking cottage that she had assumed was abandoned. She waited until the sun went down before making the trek through the back yard and into her neighbor’s yard. Climbing the back fence wasn’t easy in a dress, but no one was watching so she tied it up at her waist, climbed onto a low branch of a tree and hopped over. As she lowered her dress and smoothed it down, she didn’t know that she was being watched.
With a pair of binoculars, Bradford had watched her every move. Before long, she would be his, if the night went as planned. Let the games begin!
“Come in, Carmella. The party is in full swing.”
Carmella looked around the old house that was amazingly modern, if not a little overdone, on the inside. She noticed that the guests were wearing disguises, though she and Bradford were not. His eyes told her that she was not to question him, but she hadn’t gotten that impression from him when they talked earlier. He seemed different now.
Her attention quickly turned to the sound of orchestra music playing in the distance. Bradford put his arm around her waist and ushered her into a large room. A number of the guests proceeded up the grand staircase where Carmella assumed they would become part of a more intimate type of party, each couple doing their own thing, but when the antique grandfather clock chimed the top of the hour, the orchestra music abruptly ceased.
Carmella asked, “What happens now?”
Bradford shushed her and told her to wait and watch. The lights dimmed and in the center of the room appeared a masked trumpeter dressed like a mythical bird. He stood in the middle of the room and blew his horn, forcing Carmella to hold her hands over her ears. Everyone in the room was silent as a masked guard entered the room and announced loudly, “Lord and Lady of the cottage, welcome to the greatest show on the mountain. The evening’s entertainment is soon to begin. Enjoy a night of wanton debauchery.” The announcer then exited the middle of the room as quietly as he had entered. Carmella looked at Bradford with an unsettling gaze, but he was too busy enjoying the show to be bothered by her possible discomfort with the sight before her. If this is what went on in the cottage on the hill, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be a part of it, but when she tried to pull away from him, he held her more tightly to him, his hand seeming to grow larger at her waist. A smile formed upon Bradford’s mouth, though Carmella did not look at him. She felt as if she had become part of an erotic movie. She had never seen anything like it.
The Things They Carried won France's prestigious Prix du Meilleur Livre Etranger and the Chicago Tribune Heartland Prize; it was also a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Critics Circle Award.