Book Boyfriends Cafe put out a challenge for Valentine’s Day: Share a scene in which characters find themselves entangled in a web of sexual tension.
For once, I’m not posting about Royal Regard. My next book, La Déesse Noire: The Black Goddess, will be released June 15, and since it is about an Indian courtesan in London, it is pretty much boiling over with sexual tension.
(Excerpt in which our heroine, Kali Matai, performs for her new lover.) [unedited]
By the time he felt the silk of her sari across the back of his neck, he was more aroused than he had ever been. After a month of touching but not tasting, watching and waiting for this breathtaking woman, he immediately regretted his promise not to put his hands on her body more than any pledge he had ever made.
She had chosen a Persian-blue, gossamer-silk sari shot with gold threads for their first night together, which brought out blue-black candlelight in her upswept hair and the sparks of escalating need in her eyes. The shift and choli beneath the sari were also sheer, offering hints of her hidden treasures, but not detracting from his never-quite-fulfilled view of her succulent skin. The tiny bells tinkling along the edges of the yards of fabric wrapping her body, the music of the bangles she wore on her ankles and wrists, were as fairy dust clouding his senses. He couldn’t keep his eyes from tracking hers, even in the face of the rest of her glorious body.
As she sang slow, ancient ballads of tenderness and yearning, twisting her limbs in the steps of the mujara, she allowed the drape of the sari to drift over his legs, his shoulders, his face, his throat, never following with the weight of her flesh. She slid her skin, even her fingertips, only against the cool water of the loose, translucent silk, but kept herself between her lover and the few candles lighting the room, so he could always see the outline of her slender form, sinuously inviting his touch, moving away any time his hands twitched.
She lifted her knee and bared foot over his shoulder and shook the bangles circling her trim ankle, leaving him to only envision her inner thighs behind his head and still never touching him. He couldn’t help his mouth moving to taste the smooth skin of her calf, inhaling the scent of sandalwood, the trace of jungle rain. Her sharp intake of breath was like food to him, though she quickly moved to tantalize from a few feet away.
She hummed the haunting melody as she removed each pin from her hair, letting them drop onto the Turkish carpet, arms drawn up, full breasts and hardened nipples moving with each breath beneath the silk. Not one strand of her coiffure fell out of place until the entire thick length dropped to her waist like an ell of heavy satin. She moved toward him again, letting her long hair trace across his shoulders, fall around his face as though holding at bay the world around them, filling his senses with forests and spices and the music of mysterious ancients.
His jacket disappeared under her hands, fingertips dissolved his waistcoat buttons, vanished the complicated knots of his cravat. The feel of her nails on his chest, opening the ties of his shirt, made him choke on the force of his desire. She ran her fingers through his hair, into the hollow of his throat, over his shoulders, down his arms. She tugged the shirttails from under his waistband, over his throbbing cock and heavy bollocks, one slow inch at a time.
He found himself rubbing against the inside of his trousers, unable to keep his hips from following after her touch; when she traced her fingernail against his straining erection, the contact was so delicate and swift he would have missed it if not for the shuddering forced through the rest of his body.
He wanted to beg her to touch him—to let him touch her—but he couldn’t conceive of words, nor remember how to speak. He had entirely forgotten his insistence on keeping the upper hand. If she brought any part of her body into contact with his sex, he was certain he would release inside his clothes. When she turned away to shimmy her hips against the insides of his thighs, inches from his heated shaft, it would have taken no more than the vibration of the bells at her wrists, only half an inch closer.
“You so beautiful, Kali,” he forced out, his eyes fluttering closed against the ache in his gut. “Perfect… Oh, God… Exquisite.” Before he opened his eyelids again, she had moved out of his line of sight.
From behind his back, her hand ran down his chest, under his shirt, as she responded low and husky into his ear, “As are you, premi. I have never seen such a magnificent man. You arouse me by only your presence.” He scented her musk in the air, underneath the aroma of her skin that always teased him, and thought his head would rise like a hot-air balloon over the treetops, catch flame until only sparks and flakes of ash remained, drifting on the breeze.
When his head fell back, baring his throat to her, she parted the collar of his shirt and used both forearms to rip down the center, leaving it gaping over his chest. The sudden violence left him gasping, moaning when she used the unfettered access to touch every inch of skin she had bared, the locks of her hair, the edges of her nails, the pads of her fingers tickling his nipples, his stomach, the waistband of his pants, her breasts cradling the back of his head. The teasing left him groaning, growling, and finally begging. When his hands moved from their position behind the chair, trying to slide up the inside of her thigh, she stepped away.
He knew he had only to stand and follow her, assuming his knees would stay under him. He could drag her down to the floor or up against the wall, take her in any position he chose, but he had been keeping the promise for weeks not to molest her person; he could offer up no good reason to break it now. He slowly clasped his hands again, using the placket of his trousers to once more try to ease his desperate need.
When she knelt down before him, between his spread thighs, close enough to feel her heat, too far to touch no matter how he strained, he found himself keening, begging, “Please, Kali. Please touch me. Please.”
Her smile was inscrutable. “Do you not enjoy my attentions, premi? You need only say if I do not bring you pleasure. It is my fondest desire to please you in all things.”
She loosened one button of his trousers, placing a soft kiss on the bared skin, and all he could force from his throat was, “No, you… oh God.” When her tongue tip flicked across his hipbone, he barely, just barely, kept from climaxing without ever touching her. “Oh, dear God.”
By the time she reached the fourth button on the left side, he had found it within himself to pace his desire, worth every recitation of the kings and queens of England, as she rubbed her soft cheek against his skin, warm breath reaching under the fall to almost touch his straining member.
“Oh, God, buttons… more buttons… please,” he begged, his thoughts and words chaotic and jumbled. “Please… dying… touch…” He couldn’t even tell if he were forming words or speaking in tongues.
A bit faster, but only a bit, she loosened the right side of the placket with the same tender kisses as each inch of flesh appeared, sliding the satin lining against him as she finally freed his cock, surely larger, harder, more desperate than it had ever been, dripping with need, striving for any caress she would grant. Her hair drifting across the inflamed head found him thrusting against the air. Her tongue sliding up the underside set him throbbing and begging alternately for her to stop and to never stop.
Each time he moaned, “Don’t… oh, God… stop,” she pulled away. When he whined, “Please… touch me,” she traced the length lightly with her tongue tip again. He reverted to moans and whimpers, but still couldn’t help pleading. “Please, Kali, take… God… tongue… please…”
June 15, you can find out who he is and exactly how his tension is resolved… until then… well… if he can imagine it, you can. 😉
Now, go get hot and bothered again and again at the rest of this bog hop’s stops.