Tuesday--Packing

Finally the myriad chores, edits, blogging, etc. is done. I'm free to pack. And yes, I did buy a new bag and some shoes. Hey, it's conference season. Time to live a little. Considering I likely won't buy new shoes/clothes again until next year's conference, I figure I'm entitled. 

And just because they're cute, a picture of my new shoes. What does this have to do with writing? Absolutely nothing.

A Monday Update

Well... The RT Book Lover's Convention kicks off May 1st in Kansas City, MO, and I'm gearing up to attend. So much yet to do. Yikes.

* I finished edits on Love In Electric Blue and sent them back to my editor.
* I am in the midst of wrapping presents and making cheesecake tarts (the boy's choice) for my youngest son's upcoming 8th birthday in two days.
* I have not even begun to pack for the conference, nor have I reserved transportation to and from the airport. sigh
* My mother is here, so I'm trying to unobtrusively clean when she's not looking so she won't notice I missed more than a few spots.
*I have to get a new manicure because the old one was shot all to hell. I cannot for the life of me have unblemished, painted nails for more than an hour after they dry. Another sigh (See pic right: that's what they used to look like)
* I'm going to blog from the conference with pictures and a day to day update on what's going on, for those of you unable to attend.
* I'm good on my current WIP, just over the halfway point. Whew.

Belated Wednesday Words...On Thursday--CR: Derrick

Since I'm still celebrating the Circs this month, I thought I'd give you a taste of sexy, mean, built-like-a-brick Derrick Packard. I love this guy. Enjoy!

CIRCE'S RECRUITS: DERRICK

Sabrina’s mouth felt like cotton, her temples throbbed, and her body ached. Groaning, she blinked into awareness. She lay on a bed under a soft, warm comforter. Bright rays of sun shone through a window to the right of the bed, landing on the large feet of the man who wouldn’t leave her thoughts, or apparently, her presence. He sat in a leather chair with a magazine open on his lap.

“Packard?” She sounded more like a frog than a woman and coughed to clear her throat.

“Finally.” He tossed the magazine to the floor, stood, and stretched, calling attention to his superbly conditioned body. Even wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans he looked downright edible. Sexy, dangerous, an inner instinct rumbled, setting off internal alarms.

Packard stilled and stared at her with such intensity, he scared her. For just a minute, a flash of inhuman, slitted pupils looked back at her. Not good. She’d seen firsthand what the savage Circs at Pearson Labs could do, and it wasn’t pretty.

“What are you?” Packard asked as he stepped closer.

She scooted back in the bed, relieved to find herself clothed in a baggy sweatshirt and matching pants. He continued to approach until he was all but on top of her, while she tried to blend in with the headboard. His mouth opened, showing sharp canines, and she froze. She waited for him to rip into her throat and end her supposed threat to his team.

Instead he sniffed her, and her damned libido kicked into high gear.

Angry at herself for showing fear, but more, at him for screwing with her hormones that couldn’t decided if she was turned on or scared, she went on the offensive. “What the hell are you doing?”

Derrick gripped her shoulders, holding her in place. The heat from his hands traveled through her shoulders directly to her breasts, where her nipples hardened like marbles. Painful, arousing, and embarrassing, especially when he locked on to her breasts and rumbled with what sounded like satisfaction.

“Get off me.” She squirmed in his hold.

He tightened his grip, not looking very happy himself. “Dammit. I’m trying to see --”

“Derrick, is she awake?” Doc asked as he walked into the bedroom. Conveniently ignoring Packard’s threatening stance, Doc smiled at her. “Good morning, Sabrina. How do you feel?”

Packard muttered under his breath, let her go, and backed away. He stood behind Doc with his arms folded over his chest, looking properly intimidating. Tall, dark, and handsome, but with a twist. This guy wasn’t anyone’s knight in shining armor. Sabrina compared him instead to the dragon terrorizing the townspeople.

“Sabrina?”

She turned to Doc, blushing because she’d been so immersed in Packard that she’d missed what he said. “I’m sorry. What’s that, Dr. Dennis?”

“Call me Doc.”

“Okay, Doc.”

“Why don’t we let you get cleaned up before breakfast? You’re about Caitlyn’s size, so these clothes should fit.” He motioned to a pair of jeans and a sweater sitting on the dresser and fiddled with his glasses. “I’m sorry about the lack of undergarments, but you’ll have to make do until we can go shopping. Derrick is here to help you if you have any problems.”

“Help me? He looks like he wants to eat me.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Think, then talk, Sabrina.

Derrick, damn him, gave her a huge, toothy grin. “Not a bad idea, princess.” His glance lingered over his breasts, making them feel tight and heavy.

“Derrick.” Doc frowned. “If I need to get Roane for this detail, I will.”

“I’ll behave. Go on, Doc. I promise not to eat our prisoner.” He sighed and amended, “Guest,” at Doc’s glare.

“Circs.” Doc shook his head and left the room.

Leaving Sabrina alone with Packard.

He looked over his shoulder. Apparently seeing Doc gone, he turned around and stepped close again. He seemed to have no appreciation for personal space. “Okay, Torrence. Out with it.”

“Out with what?”

“What are you?”

“Why do you keep asking me that? What do you think I am?” She held her arms out wide, for once using her body as a distraction. Like honey, her breasts attracted his beeline stare.

“A woman, no doubt.” Packard sniffed at her again. To her dismay, a part of her liked his interest, even welcomed it. “And something more. Lie to Doc if you want. But don’t lie to me.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rising to stand on the bed, she stood a good foot taller than him. Liking her small advantage, she glared down at him. “Stop threatening me. I put myself at real risk to help you people. A thank-you wouldn’t be out of line.” She used her best petty officer voice, one that had worked so well in the Navy to put her sailors in line.

Packard didn’t blink an eye when he yanked her off the bed in a move so fast she had no time to deny him. Caught in his hold, now on the floor and a good bit shorter than the rough giant, she could only watch as he eliminated the slim distance between them.

“Don’t push me, princess. I don’t care what you did, only who you work for. I’m not falling for your bullshit, so stop with the come-ons. How about some truth, for a change?”

Come-ons? What the hell is he talking about? “You’re one egotistical ass if you think I want you anywhere near me.” She deliberately ignored the excitement pounding through her veins. “I don’t like bullies, and I sure as hell don’t like Circs. If you think for one minute I’m lying about that, you can go --”

His lips stopped the obscenities from landing on his head. Time stood still as the first taste of Derrick Packard exploded in her system. The kiss was far from gentle. Lust rolled through her body with the force of a hurricane as he demanded a reaction. Unable to resist, she met his fierceness. Pushing harder against his mouth, grinding her nipples against his firm chest, she thought she heard him groan but couldn’t be sure past the pounding of her heart.

He tasted fresh, like toothpaste, and more, like candy. Cinnamon spice that addicted her better than any drug. His teeth were flat and even, his tongue commanding as he plunged into her mouth. He licked and stroked with raw need, easily showing her how masterfully he’d use his body when -- if -- they finally came together.

She didn’t know when she’d put her hands around his neck, but suddenly she was pulling him closer. Pleased with the erection shoving against her belly, she nearly begged him for more when he palmed her ass and ground against her crotch.

He tore his mouth from hers and nipped the column of her throat. “That’s it, princess. Show me how much you don’t want me.”

“I…don’t…” She could barely breathe, awash in sensation. Never before had she been so aware of her body. How soft she was in contrast to the hard man against her.

“Mmm, show me some more.” Packard ran his hands up her body, along her ribs and higher, cupping her breasts. With a low growl, he closed his hands over her nipples and pinched, and she cried out, astonished at how good it felt. How good he felt, surrounding her with his strength.

He lifted her sweatshirt and swore. Before she could even think about protesting, his mouth closed over one tip. She arched into him, groaning and helpless as he sucked her into a state of oblivion. At that moment, he could have laid her down and fucked her senseless, and she would have encouraged him. Thankfully, he pulled back.

“Take off your clothes,” he said in a thick voice as he pulled his shirt over his head.

The sight of his broad chest confirmed her suspicions about his power. Muscles rippled in the sunlight, the frame of the brown-skinned giant before her apparent in exquisite detail. He was cut, his biceps like rocks on either side of a chest as hard as steel. His nipples were erect, like hers, but cocoa brown and bitable.

Absorbed by his body, she reluctantly broke her concentration to see his face -- and froze.

His eyes had changed. He was a Circ, much more than a man. Deadly. One of Doc’s men. What the hell am I doing?

 CIRCE'S RECRUITS: DERRICK

The New Red-Headed Stepchild

http://www.nmm.ac.uk/server/show/conMediaFile.969

There's nothing quite so much fun as lively discussion about who's sunk to the bottom. This said with much sarcasm. It both fascinates and dismays me to find that people seem to have a need to knock others down. 

When I started writing, ebooks were the red-headed stepchild. Back in 2005, there were three notable romance epublishers. I was a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA) and had actually been introduced to my first publisher (an electronic publisher) through my local RWA. When I signed a contract and wanted to share my good news, my "supportive" group snubbed me. I apparently wasn't writing "real" books. Lovely.

Fast forward a few years and erotic romance becomes the new least favorite of the genres. Why? I have no idea, but telling people, even fellow romance writers, that I wrote erotic romance was akin to telling them I slaughtered small children, puppies and kittens for kicks. And God forbid those right-minded folks in the Bible Belt hear of it. One woman didn't want our kids to play together for fear my son might taint hers. Yes, because I often use a four-year-old to plot erotic scenes. Okay, she was a dumbass.

Fast forward a few more years, and self-publishing is lauded as nonsense. According to the proverbial "they"--only those who can't get published by a real publisher do it themselves. And then Amanda Hocking broke the ceiling. A new author, not well-known, who managed to sell over a million copies of a young adult book. Suddenly self-publishing, relabeled Indie (independent) publishing, didn't look so bad. Others jumped on the bandwagon and saw success. 

Now it's 2013. Ebooks and digitial-first lines are common in the large NY publishing houses. Ebooks sales gross more and more of the publishing pie every year. With the phenomenal success of Fifty Shades of Grey, erotic romance has pretty much gone mainstream. Authors are self-publishing and many are making a living doing so. 

Which brings me to my next group of those considered by some to be persona non grata. Agents. 

Who thought that would ever be the case? Personally, I think agents still have their place. In the print world with large publishing houses, good agents--note, I said good--can swing authors better deals and better contract terms. But in the indie and small press world, I just don't see a need for them. I've heard of authors verbally attacking agents on Twitter and Facebook, declaring in broad, sneering terms their uselessness. And I've also heard of agents--yes, agents--foaming at the mouth and throwing gibes at authors who dare question their necessity.

And the ugliness continues.

I just think it's interesting that for so long, authors have been the bottom of the food chain when without authors, there is no work to edit, agent, or produce. Now to see agents getting a sense that they aren't worth keeping around stuns, baffles, and yes, intrigues me. It's like watching a train wreck and being unable to look away. 

Hearing for years that professionals know the market better than I do, when I read hundreds of romances a year and have for over twenty years, made little sense to me. But then, I'm biased and invested in my own work, so of course I'm not clearheaded about my projects. I do, however, know what readers like. Not necessarily what sounds marketable, but what an actual reader will read. Now that indie publishing is big, I think those same professionals are realizing that for the first time in a long time, readers are making themselves heard. Books that the old Big 6 might never have found marketable are readable, and being sold in droves. 

It's a brave, fun, scary, exciting new world out there. And it all rests with the readers, finally, as it should. 

Chapter One Reveals--Don't Miss Out!

Don't forget! First chapter reveals by stellar authors over at Diamond Authors. It's going on until the 27th. Free peeks into great reads!

First Chapter Reveal

First Chapter reveal of Storming His Heart at Diamond Authors

Interesting Facts for a Friday

Just for fun, I thought I'd throw some facts together for you that struck me this week.

• Kung Fu Magoo is an actual animated movie.
• Vigintillion has 63 zeroes in its number.
• There is in fact a romance book entitled Pregnesia. (Took me a minute, but the title is a combination of the words pregnant and amnesia. Not joking.)
• I intend to see Oblivion today.
• Last year, the romance book industry grossed $1.336 billion (per RWA). Not bad for "pulp" fiction.
• Yeahoh is the Kentucky name for Big Foot.
  
  Happy Friday!

Wednesday Words: TALSON'S WAIT

I thought I'd go futuristic this Wednesday. The Talsons are a fun bunch of sexy aliens working on a future Earth. Mostly traders, though there are a few clans hiring out as mercenaries. The four Talson brothers have their stories told, beginning with Roarke, a half human, half Otra. Enjoy this excerpt from the first book--Talson's Wait. 

Reaching for the doorknob, she watched in horror as it began to turn. Swiftly locking the deadbolt, she took a step back and almost tripped over her unwieldy luggage.

“Dammit, Kendrik, open the door.” The familiar growl made her knees weak. “We have to talk.”

Jamie found herself unable to process. What to do? She had no back door, no other means of escape. She hadn’t thought he’d come after her this soon.

“Jamie, open the door,” he said in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

She eyed the door as if it were the gateway to hell. The doorknob jiggled again, this time violently. Spying salvation in the most unlikely of places, she shoved her bags to the side and lunged for an ancient faux-log doorstop. While holding it above her head, she quickly unlocked the deadbolt and hid next to the doorframe in the space that would be concealed by the door when it opened.

“Finally.” Talson walked through her door, sounding gruff and much more like the ogre she knew. “Kendrik?”

Sensing this might be her best shot, she crept from behind the door and whacked him in the back of the head. Instead of going down, he cursed and wavered, turning around to stare at her accusingly.

Before she could react, he crumpled to the floor, dazed, but not out.

“For God’s sake.” She scrambled to adapt. Running to her hole-in-the-wall of a kitchen, she yanked a loose cord from the blinds in her lone window and raced back to Talson.

She rolled him over, surprised at how guilty she felt having felled the giant. For the past year he’d been a thorn in her side, not an evil man, but one that made her life a living hell nonetheless. But this morning, after how nice he’d been, what they shared, doing this felt wrong.

Yet what choice did she have? Sure, she’d given him a helluva blowjob. But Mr. Rules would never overlook a smuggling infraction. He’d probably feel it his personal duty to escort her to prison himself.

Tying his hands behind his back with an effective knot, one she’d learned courtesy of working the docks, she stood and planned how best to reach the train yard.

Donning her backpack and grabbing her suitcase, she headed for the door when his words stopped her.

“You’re making the mother of all mistakes.” His voice was raspy with pain, but his eyes were clear and direct when she turned to stare at him. “In fact, your best bet would be to finish me off. Because once I’m free, there’s not a place on Earth or offworld that I won’t look to hunt you down.”

The satisfaction on his face alarmed her, and his words brought forth an ugly reality.

She stared at him, then at the doorstop, then back at him, weighing her options. As if she had a choice. Knocking him in the head had been impulsive. Dwelling on the matter made the decision simple. There was no way she could strike him again, not when he lay helpless on the floor. Much as she wished he’d bother someone else, she knew harming him further was out of the question. She couldn’t murder in cold blood. Not Talson.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” She sighed and closed her eyes, wishing she’d let the easygoing Lowrens purchase her servitude instead of Roarke Talson. But living in New Hattan, across the country, and working her time off as a love slave had less appeal than working her ass off for Talson.

Opening her eyes, she stared down at the glowering man, wondering why fate had let him purchase her debtor’s ticket. For that matter, she still wondered why he’d bothered to buy it in the first place.

He shifted on his back and brought her attention to the present in a flash. When she narrowed her eyes, he stilled. She wanted to slap herself for being so stupid. While she’d been reminiscing, he’d been trying to work his hands free.

Dropping her bags, again, she found the reinforcing structural tape she normally used to block the slow leaks in her barred window and approached him. He tried to resist her pull, but the blow he’d taken to the head made him weaker than she’d suspected. She rolled him onto his belly and reinforced the cord around his wrists with a layer of tape. Rolling him over onto his back, she straddled him, in a position of authority once more. Remembrances of this morning refused to leave her as she took charge.

He glared up at her, his lips a thin line and his eyes…she couldn’t quite figure out what she saw in his eyes. Anger, annoyance, but no real hatred. And something else, something that made her look away in a hurry.

She really didn’t need this. Not now. Not after a year of dealing with her insane attraction and the impossible man who’d instilled it. But what if she never saw him again? Much as Talson annoyed her to no end, she’d be a fool to deny his physical appeal. Blue-black hair, dark brown eyes, a firm chin and a straight nose. Not a pretty man, but a thoroughly sexy leader in his prime. Jamie was a sucker for muscles and drive, both of which he had in spades.

What the hell? She’d already hidden an Otra aboard neutrally declared cargo and brained her boss with a doorstop. What was one more sin on top of a life sentence?

Ignoring the caution that flashed in his eyes, she lowered her face until she could feel his sweet breath on her lips. A wave of heat feathered through her, and without giving it another thought, she pressed her mouth to his. Finally, her first real kiss with Roarke Talson.

Instantaneous fire shot through her, and the moan that escaped startled a sharp intake of breath from both of them. His lips felt like silk, smooth yet with the male firmness she associated with him. All too easily she could imagine his taste, and before she could help herself, she penetrated his lips with her tongue.

Like warm chocolate with a hint of brandy, he packed an addictive wallop. She wanted more. Her hands settled on his muscular chest of their own volition, and she absorbed his heat through his thin shirt. He might as well have been naked. Delicious was all she could think as she practically devoured the man. Lost in her desire, she didn’t immediately pick up on the fact he offered little resistance.

Then again, she could barely think at all through the haze of sensation coursing through her blood. Just this morning she’d felt like this, so needy, so unbelievably sexual. It was as if her entire body centered on the ache in her womb. She couldn’t blame the berries this time. Only Roarke had this effect on her.

She squirmed atop him, unable to stop herself, and his groan and the resulting hardness rubbing between her thighs made her press closer. Rocking over him, she drew closer and closer to the ecstasy she’d felt hours ago. His scent, his touch, the strength abundant in his confidence and sensuality drugged her into taking more.

Roarke whispered against her lips, encouraging her to ride him. He plunged his tongue back into her mouth and took charge, even as he lay helpless under her.

Jamie couldn’t understand her desperation, but she couldn’t stop. She had to reach that pinnacle he promised with every caress of his lips.

“Yeah. Fucking come,” he said on a breath when she leaned up, rocking against him.

Staring down into eyes now as black as sin, she twitched over the hard length of him and let the fiery blaze overtake her. “Roarke, Roarke.” She blew apart, her climax explosive. Sensation obliterated all thought and she floated in a sea of pleasure.

“Come on, baby. A little more. Yeah.” Roarke arched his pelvis against her, his erection like an iron bar beneath her.

Reality splashed over her like a cold dose of water. She couldn’t believe how much she still wanted to continue this exploration. To take him into her bedroom and let him push inside her, that massive length of him crammed deep. She shivered, trembling because her clit still throbbed over his thick cock.

Talson said nothing, lying still while he watched her with guarded eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Th-that was a mistake.”

“Not from where I’m lying.” He had the nerve to grin at her, his expression almost evil. “Oh, yeah. Run as fast and far as you want. But I’m getting inside that pussy. And you’re going to finally know your place. It’s time you paid your dues.”

She wanted to hate him, to rail at him for being such an arrogant jerk. But the truth was, his dominance only turned her on that much more. Striving to shake free from his sensual web, she rose to her feet, unable to look away from his heavy-lidded eyes. I shouldn’t want him. Not at all. He’s bossy and annoying and mean and…oh God, so fucking sexy. This is so not normal, so very, very not okay to want Talson like this.

Gathering speed as desperation and shock fought for control of her thoughts, she picked up her bags and flew out the door, wanting nothing more than to escape her path to ruination…and her insane desire.

 TALSON'S WAIT

Shout Out Day

Today it's Shout Out Day for my Facebook team. So shout out, and rejoice. And amen.

If you'd like to join, shoot me an email.

Snow and Taxes

It's a typical Monday in Bend, Oregon. It's tax day, April 15th. And it's snowing. ??!!@@!!

Saturday it looked like this.

Today it looks like this. And it's still coming down.

It's a very good day to write.

New Cover: Kiss of the Curse

I am in LOOOVVVEE with this cover, from the very talented Scott of P and N Graphics. They do outstanding work! This is the third book in my Amazon Western series and will release in spring 2014. Now I have to get to work writing Bite of the Blade--book two! *big grin* There are four books scheduled in all for this series, and I can't wait to get back to writing them. Let me know what you think. 

Lost a Day

Interestingly enough, I have been behind a day all week. I posted Wednesday Words on Thursday, and was wondering how today could be Friday??  

Well, have a great weekend, and don't forget this starting tomorrow. First chapter peeks at books by great authors. (And yes, I'm including myself in that description. *grin*) 

Wednesday Words: By the Tail

This is an unedited teaser for By the Tail, my upcoming Cougar Falls book. Well, it doesn't come out until September, but Quince and Joy finally get their story told. Enjoy!

Quince experienced another pang of homesickness, wishing for a past that could never be. Better to think about the now, he thought as he hid in the feminine day spa catering to Ac-taw and humans alike. Thanks to the Hunter’s mist he’d sprayed over himself to mask his scent, he was all but invisible. And if Dean hadn’t totally fucked him over, he might just have a shot at getting Joy under his hot, hungry hands…

*

The doorknob against the far wall turned, and he froze behind the slatted closet door. The older woman who preceded Joy gave the closet a subtle nod. For a hundred bucks, and Dean’s voucher, she’d been more than happy to play secret matchmaker.

“Okay, Ms. Bermin. You can take your robe off and hang it there.” She pointed to a hook on the wall. “Mannie will be with you shortly. Just lie down on the table, close your eyes, and let yourself relax.” Crappy New Age music piped through overhead speakers in the ceiling.

He was in hell. Until Joy grinned.

She looked adorable in a white terrycloth robe two sizes too big for her. Though by no means short, she still came to a few inches below his chin. But she had curves in all the right places. So damn sexy. The only dark-headed Bermin amidst so many blondes, she had short spiky hair, mischievous jade-green eyes, and a mouth made for sin.

Just thinking about their one and only kiss aroused him.

“Terrific,” Joy said. “I was stressed out. But I tell you, that mineral bath was amazing.”

The spa attendant smiled and lit a few candles, giving the room an herbal smell. Lavender? Maybe rosemary? He didn’t much care, except that the candles would help cover his scent even more.

“We’re Whitefish’s premier spa. Of course, I’m biased, but when my friends ask what I want for my birthday, I always tell them a gift certificate for this place.” The woman laughed. “Your sister Stacey agrees. I was so excited to learn that the Bermin line was coming to Montana.” She made a bit more small talk about high fashion, Stacey’s new plans to expand her design wear, then left Joy with instructions to lock the door behind her, because her massage therapist would enter through the other door. The one right next to the closet.  

After the door shut behind her, Joy went over to lock it, then turned and unbelted her robe. She hung it on the wall and let out a deep breath, looking relaxed for the first time in ages.

Good Christ. His mouth dried and he found it hard to breathe.

She had golden skin, dewy from her bath, and was just…perfect. Full breasts with rosy areolas, a slender waist, and a curvy ass. He wanted to taste her like crazy.

He forced himself to keep quiet as she moved to the massage table and lay belly down, putting her face in the donut-shaped pillow. Good for him, because she wouldn’t be able to see him. Then she drew a sheet over her ass and legs, hiding that delectable derriere from view.

He gave it a few minutes, then deliberately opened the door and closed it behind him. He locked the door next to the closet, securing them together. Alone.

“Hello, Ms. Bermin. I’m Mannie,” he said in a much deeper voice.

“Mmm.” Nice. She was almost asleep. According to the woman he’d bribed, Mannie was Stacey’s personal massage therapist, so Joy wouldn’t fret about being in the same room with the striking gay man.

Quince swallowed a curse, not liking the thought of any man, gay or straight, touching his mate—future mate, he reminded himself. Go slow and don’t blow it. Reel her in, slowly. Seduce a yes out of the tricky feline.

Quince would much rather have been honest with Joy, but the woman made it impossible to deal with her on the level.

Even Dean had agreed. “You want to win her?” he’d said last night. “Trick her into saying yes before she can backpedal. Trust me, Joy should have been born a fox. Woman has a thing for always trying to pull one over on a guy.”

Quince cleared his throat and reminded himself not to get naked and mount her yet. He knew they shared chemistry, but she needed to want all of him. Or so he kept telling himself as he stared down at her slender neck and smooth, rounded shoulders.

“Mannie?”she mumbled.

“This will feel good. Just lie there and relax.” He slathered almond scented oil over his hands and placed them on her back. His dick spiked, so in tune with the rest of him needing to caress her. Touch her. Keep her.

She froze for a moment but soon relaxed under his soothing touch. From her shoulders down to her lower back, he butterfly-stroked the tension out of her. Each time his fingers drew closer to the curve of her ass, and each time he fought the urge to deepen the intimacy and release his scent. His cat growled and paced inside him, needing to scent mark his mate.

Not yet, he warned it, understanding too well the cat’s yowl of denial. Soon. Let’s play with her first. The cat sniffed with grudging approval, but when Quince deepened his touch, kneading her skin, the cat purred in his breast before he could shush it quiet.

“Oh, that feels good,” Joy whispered on a breathy sigh.

Too good. Quince was hard enough to split wood. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, and he wiped it away with his shoulder. Then he moved to her waist. “I’m going to adjust the sheet so I can get to your hamstrings and calves.”

“Sure,” he heard her murmur.

He slid the soft sheet over her back, keeping it barely covering her ass.

Then he moved to the base of the table, prodded her ankles wider, and started rubbing her feet, curling his lips at her barely audible purr. His cat heard it and purred along with her.

Joy’s muscles locked. She’d heard him. He didn’t care.

“Easy. Let yourself go,” he rasped, imaging how beautiful she’d be the first time she came in his arms.

“But…”

He stroked her heels, her ankles, and higher up her calves to the backs of her knees. Then he caressed the insides of her thighs, moving higher but not high enough to be called on it.

Fuck if he could think past the need to take her.

“That feels… that feels…” She hitched her breath.

“Good?” he ended for her, having a hard time breathing.

“Uh, yeah,” she squeaked.

He ran his thumbs back up the insides of her thighs again, this time skating perilously close to her pussy. He inhaled and scented raw, powerful lust. Oh God.

She squirmed, and his thumb brushed her folds, coated with her arousal.

“Mannie, I don’t think…”

“No, don’t think,” Quince growled, making no effort to disguise his voice any longer.

“I knew it!” But she didn’t flinch or try to move off the table. Instead she shivered under him, as caught in the spell as Quince.

He knew better than to give her time to think things through. He yanked the sheet off her back and continued to massage her, this time running his fingers against the slick flesh between her legs before sliding his hands down her thighs. He massaged on an upward sweep again, higher and higher, until unable to stop himself, he slid his finger inside her.

She clamped down on the digit, moaning and surrounding him with heat, and he swore. “Fuck. Let me…” He didn’t want to hear her reject him again, so he took charge. Quince removed his hand, flipped her onto her back, and then pulled her ass to the edge of the table, where she dangled her legs on either side of him. The perfect position for him to spread her thighs wider and shove his face into the sweetest pussy he’d ever had.