Searing tales of erotic surrender.
Muse--Of course she’d dreamed of being a slave. The passion leaked out, even in the tamest of her kinky scenes.
Détente--I can’t help it. I’m dizzy with instantly kindled lust. He nips at my lips, probes me with his tongue. He drinks me in, consumes me. Between my thighs everything melts.
Excerpt – from “Détente”
I tried to choose, ten years ago. I married David, traveled the world with him, settled down, as much as I’m ever likely to. My ties to Eric wouldn’t let me rest. I would dream of his voice commanding me, his hands alternately caressing and tormenting me. I craved the sensation of him ravaging me until I was too sore to walk. I yearned for the near-telepathic connection we shared when he called me to his dungeon and bound me to his service. “Give me your body – give me your mind,” he had whispered in my ear on that night long ago, when I was young and impressionable, before I’d ever met David. Malleable, he called me, gently mocking. Indeed, he molded my desires into strange and fearful shapes.
Lust, obsession, love, whatever you want to call it, it flowed between us like currents of fire.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough to keep us together. His sensitivity could turn into irritability. His sense of power could dwindle to miserable inadequacy. He was intuitive, but didn’t always share his insights.
I was young, as I said. I reacted instinctively to his desire, but I didn’t really understand his heart. I thought that I was nothing more to him than his slut, and never would be.
Meanwhile David exploded into my life and swept me off my feet with his quirky gallantry. We skinny-dipped under the full moon, drank vodka and pondered philosophy until dawn, spent entire Sundays in bed feasting on each other’s bodies. David wrote me poems and sang me the blues. He took me to the strip clubs in the seedier part of town, then later plowed me with long, slow strokes while we fantasized about the dancers. He recounted picaresque tales of his travels, bus trips through jungles in
Sumatra, hurried couplings under the bridges of Paris, epiphanies in the mountains of Peru. He promised to take me with him on his next set of adventures.
I married David. Eric still hasn’t forgiven me.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh