Sex Scene Saturday: Everard & Sylvie

Caveat: This was my first attempt at a fully fleshed (so to speak) love scene, from years ago. This story — a medieval with slightly fantastical elements — has never been published, but it may someday emerge from beneath the bed. For now, though, the hero and heroine are clearly headed for bed.


Standing in the emptied tub Everard had used for his bath, Sylvie sluiced enough water over her skin to work up a lather with his discarded soap. It was too dear to waste, she told herself, she was being practical, but she closed her eyes to breathe in the masculine scent of sandalwood.

She crossed her arms over her breasts, skimmed her hands down over her elbows, crossing at her belly, down her thighs. His body, when she had touched him with soapy hands, had been all hard planes and ridged muscle. Where would her soft flesh fit against him?

calla-manhoodA tautness at the core of her warmed at the thought. His tumescent manhood had risen toward her, beckoned her. Her gaze had touched but she had been fearful, had restrained her hands to those spans of skin above the lean stretch of his flanks.

She wished she had mustered the nerve for more than a quick peek.

As the memories assailed her, the soft sound of the door opening echoed. A cloth and timber partition screened the tub from the door but the shield would not protect her from anyone stepping too deeply into the chamber.

And she knew well enough whose steps they were.

“Come –” Her throat tightened to a squeak. “Come no farther. I am at my bath.

“My luck has turned.”

Everard. She would have known him without his speaking.

She shuttered her eyes even as she heard him step around the screen. And stop.

She felt every drop of water, ever collapsing bubble on her skin. For all the damp chill, her flesh was hot. Did steam rise from her skin? She could not open her eyes to discover the truth, because then she would see his dark eyes reflecting her nakedness, her arms draped at her sides, framing her body, while her fingers dug into her thighs.

She held her breath and listened, but heard nothing. Had he gone? No. Still there. She sensed him. To break the silence, she made the small noise he would not. Her sigh echoed in the room. He moved then. She felt him coming for her.

“I will wash you.” The deep tenor of his voice expanded in her chest, made her heart treble its beat to fill the space. “A fair trade for my bath yesterday.”

That edge in his words… Did he tease? Or warn. Either way, her feet were rooted in a scant toe’s depth of water. Oh, why had she carried up only two buckets when she might have immersed herself now to escape his perusal. Her skin prickled and not from cool brush of air on her naked skin.

She strained to hear his step, knew she was being stalked. Each heartbeat that he did not touch her, her muscles, her skin, her breath tightened by excruciating degrees.

She edged one hand to cover her breasts, full and tender against her arm. With the other hand, she shielded the curls at the juncture of her thighs. From just behind her, she heard Everard loose a soft breath of laughter. So close he stood. The fine hairs at the back of her neck crested.

“Shall I wash your hair as well?” His low voice thrilled through her like a gust of wind lifted dandelion seeds to the sun.

His fingers pressed against her crown, releasing the braids pinned atop. He raked his fingers through her hair, from crown to temple to the sensitive skin behind her ears. She trembled. Had anyone ever touched her there? His touch was gentle as her own furrowing through freshly seeded soil. Her body warmed with heavy ripeness. What was he seeding in her?

Slowly, he untangled the tresses to lay over her shoulders. His hands smoothed against her back, pressing the ripples from her braids, skin to skin but for the veil of her hair. Her breath caught, stuttered, then matched time with his.

Without doubt, she had never been touched like this.

“Step back toward me.” His tone. “And keep your eyes closed.”

Glad of her resolute blindness, she leaned willingly into his hands.

The warm fragrance of sandalwood engulfed her and she heard the soft suction of the soap bar in Everard’s hands.

Then his hands were on her.

The lather skimmed flesh over flesh, up her spine and over her shoulders and down through her hair. She struggled for a moment to stiffen against the molding of his hands. Then she gave herself over to the rhythm, breathing with each stroke until a fire stoked inside her.

She could not restrain a little groan. Her hand covering her breasts dropped to her side.

He caught her back against his chest. His soapy fingers skimmed down over the tops of her breasts, and her unease returned three-fold. She started, pulling forward away from him.

His hands, riding a film of soap, slipped down. She gasped at the passing friction over her nipples, taut and expectant beyond her ken.

In a heartbeat, her languor and tension melded, fused by the heat of his hands. He followed her forward, his chest against her back. His palms skimmed lower, along the ridge of her hips, her thighs. The long muscles there leapt to his command, and she dragged in a shuddering breath that fed the heat within her.

She gave herself over to the dream.


Discussion question: How much did you cringe when you read “tumescent manhood”?

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Jenn LeBlanc
Stella Price
Jae Lynne Davies
Bridget Midway
Sascha Illyvich

Sex Scene Saturday: Vaile & Imogene


They said fairy godmothers
would grant all our wishes.

They said Tinkerbell would die
if we didn’t believe.

They said magic was just pretend.

They lied.

Once upon a time (in the original, more ominous inflection of the phrase) eldritch creatures stalked the world. They ranged across mountains and deserts and waterways—even the heavens—in a glory of guises. Some of the phaedrealii court were beautiful; some horrific. Some lived in harmony with humans; some…did not. Eventually, the chaos human passions—fear and hatred, joy and desire—drove too many phae to acts of madness. With deadly iron, humans forced the phae to retreat to hollow hills and storybooks.

Then the humans forgot.

But the phae never did.

Welcome to the world of the steel-born phae


Book 1 of the Steel Born
Coming August 2012 

“I want to see you,” he emphasized. “To be sure…”

“This is what I want.” She spread her wings to either side, making a lure of her own, an irresistible soft landing. “I want you.”

Supporting himself on one arm, he cupped her jaw and leaned in for a long, lingering kiss.

“I want that,” she whispered against his mouth. “And more.”

With a sudden flex of her wings, she rolled them.

He caught the edge of the mattress before they fell. “There’s more where that came from. Much more.” With both his hands free, he roamed her body, reshaping her flesh with each stroke of his fingers, each lap of his tongue.

And somehow, through her skin, he loosened her spirit too, made her soar where her wings had never taken her, urging her toward an elemental release unlike any of the magics she’d known.
But when she looked down, his face was as severe and remote as that brief moment on the beach when he had frightened her. He was holding something back. But why?She gasped, her whole body flush with sensation. Her breasts plumped for his caress, and her nipples drew almost painfully erect. The tingling that rang like silent bells through her depths echoed the ache until her hidden folds wept for his attention.

She touched the chiseled edge of his cheekbone. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “No consequences, remember? The perfect one-night stand.”

“What if I wanted more?”

When she tried to draw back, he tangled his fist in the pendant. The chain tightened at the back of her neck, not biting—not yet—but a tightening snare. “I don’t have anything more. I am nothing more. Just a dream, gone with the morning light.”

His jaw clenched, the muscle flexing against her palm. “That sounds like something a fairy would say as a tease.”

“It is not a tease. It’s only the truth. See? I’m touching you.” She eased

down against his chest, loosening the pendant’s restriction. The brush of her thighs over his didn’t smooth his expression, though. If anything, he clenched harder, all over.

She brushed her cleft down that most rigid of muscles at his center. The jerk of his hips was a truth too, despite the furious set of his mouth. She dipped her head and nibbled at his lower lip. “We have to take what we can, while we can.”

“Definitely spoken like a fairy. La bella dame sans merci.”

A cold draft of disquiet swept through her. From the chill of his words, he seemed almost too familiar with the transgressions of her kin, and the haunting words of Keats’s poem felt uncomfortably close to the truth. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did mean it. You were touching me, remember?” In one powerful heave, he flipped them again so he was on top, pinning her with his knees between her thighs. “Take it then. Take what you want.”

“Vaile…” Despite her weak protest, she wound her legs behind him. The nudge of his erection made the trailing edges of her wings curl inward as

every part of her body made a welcoming nest for him.

His hand worked between them to part her folds, slick with wanting him. The play of his touch made her arch and gasp, and still he held back, making her want and want and want until she thought she would unravel.

She clutched at his biceps, her knees drawn high, while he slid first one finger then two inside her. She writhed against him, a cry caught between

her teeth. This is what it must be to come Undone.

He tilted his head back, the pulse of anger in his throat lost beneath the maddening acceleration of his heartbeat. She felt the tidal pull of his blood, his desire, and still he held himself apart while the whirlpool in her belly and thighs circled ever closer to the verge. Unwilling to go alone—not tonight—she pulled herself up with her hands anchored on the bunched muscles in his shoulders and ducked to bite his nipple. The thud of his heart almost deafened her, and he gasped out her name as he buried himself in one thrust.

Pre-order now at Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble

Y’all are the first to see the first cover for my new Steel Born series. Although the art depicts Vaile and Imogene going hot and heavy in a dark alley, the scene above takes place in a dark forest cabin. Where’s the “best” place you’ve ever made out?

And don’t forget to read more from Sex Scene Saturday!
Sascha Illyvich  |  Jenn LeBlanc  |  Stacey Kennedy
Jae Lynn Davies  |  Tilly Greene

Sex Scene Saturday: Corso & Benedetta


Sex in space! A scene from “Enslaved By Starlight” in the science fiction romance anthology, HOTTER ON THE EDGE.

How unfair that he could control her with a flick of his tongue. Time she did the same…

She raised her head with difficulty against the wicked gravity that seemed to have immobilized her. He seemed equally determined to hold her in place, so she levered her hands between them, inside his shirt.

He caught his breath, and his sucked-in belly gave her extra room to shimmy her hands higher. The crisp scrape of hair across her palms made her close her eyes. Her fingertips skimmed the beads of his nipples and his hips bucked against her thigh.

“Etta,” he growled into her neck.

“Yes, Captain?”

He bit her. Not hard, but enough to make her fingers tighten in surprise.

He groaned. “Again.”

She did and then he was over her, his big body pinning her in a curve to the seat and viewport, and his hands were everywhere, unwrapping her veils to get to the simple white tunic shift underneath. With one hand, he eased down the neckline of her tunic, exposing her shoulder. With his other hand, he reached for the hem, pushing it up her thigh, then trailing his fingers back down the length of her leg.

As was l’auraly custom, she was barefoot to better experience the flow of life around them. But of course she’d also been taught to keep her skin soft and supple, a blank canvas for her future patron. So the path of his fingers over her arch made her foot twitch in reflex.

He grabbed her ankle, and the lock of his big hands around her slender bones made her heart catch again. Only her years of training kept her foot arched, her pose at once graceful and yielding.

He stared into her eyes, so close the shining rim of Qv’arratz gleamed back at her from his dilated pupils.

“I want you,” he said.

“I feel that.”

“I don’t want to want you.”

“I feel that too.” She touched his cheek. “I won’t take anything you don’t give me, Corso. I can’t.”

“But what if I¾?” He cut himself off to kiss her again, hard, without the teasing heat from before, just the possessive fury of two suns locked in a declining spiral orbit.

Ah, she needed him to fall into her. She must use everything she had been taught, everything she knew in the depths of the qva’avaq. Feminine power flowed through her. This time, he would not stop. She wouldn’t let him.

With a hand anchored at his nape, she drew herself close against him. His hand slid up her leg from ankle to knee to thigh, setting fire to every nerve and thread of crystal along the path. She writhed, letting the motion ruck her skirt higher, reveling as his big, calloused hand tightened possessively on her hip. The bench under her was warm from their body heat. The parts touching him were much, much hotter.

“No underthings,” he murmured. “I love these backwater planets.”

“The traditional l’auraly keying ceremony undergarment has nine latches, thirteen ties, twenty-one threaded rivets, and two locks,” she informed him, her voice husky. Oh, by all the shining stones, she was melting.

“Good thing this isn’t a keying ceremony.”

She drew back just enough to meet his smoldering gaze. The distance seemed to cool the torque around her neck. “It could be.”


She kissed him, as hard as he’d kissed her. No, harder yet, at least it felt that way with the crystal crushed between them.

She slipped the tunic from her shoulders. The fabric slithered down but snagged on her breasts.

“Benedetta…” Instead of a rejection this time, his groan was pure entreaty. He swept the material away, his hand fisting in the folds as he stared.


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The first private spacecraft is getting ready to head to the International Space Station. Yes, sex in zero G! Coming soon! (Well, not TOO soon, of course.) Prepare thrusters! (Everything sounds dirtier in space.) So which spaceship captain would you seduce?

Need some more hot weekend fantasies? Check out these offerings for Sex Scene Saturday.

Boone Brux

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Sex Scene Saturday: Sid & Alyce

“You’ve bewitched me,” he murmured. “It’s the only explanation.”

Her eyes widened. “Witch?”

“I should know better than this.” He drew his other knee up onto the bed, and she dipped toward his greater weight. “I do know better.”

“We can only know so much,” she said. “Even you.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“No. Maybe. Stop talking.” She lifted her face, an invitation. “Stop thinking.”

And he took the invitation—and took her. He kissed her until her lips reddened, and an answering flush rose in her pale cheeks. He buried his fingers in her hair, combing out the last of the valiantly clinging braid. She moaned against his lips, and the civilized part of him said Wait, while the rest of him—a burgeoning part, in more than one sense—urged him onward.

The rush of it terrified him.

Was he no better than the tenebrae? Taking what she offered so fearlessly, with a not-so-secret darkness in his heart?

He groaned her name again, more helpless than she had ever been. Bewitched. Bedeviled. Be damned.

For once, he understood the talya thrill to freefall.

She pulled herself up to her knees, hands framing his face to slide his specs away. They clattered somewhere in the shadows. Well, he had plenty of duct tape.

She matched him, tongue to tongue, lips, teeth, and she laughed against his mouth, a breathless sound of delight that made him feel like a talya-sized hero, swelling his heart, his head, and less noble parts of him. He swept his hands down her arms, left bare by the white dress.

Alyce rocked into him, bumping his hands aside. She’d tugged the dress out from under her knees, and before he could speak, she’d yanked it over her head.

No sacrificial virgin had underthings like this. White silk and lace. Barely enough to fill a shot glass. As a man with a scientific bent, he should have been thinking in terms of milliliters, but since his brain had gone missing . . . Yeah, a shot glass was more up his alley right now.

His hands hovered just beyond the curves of her breasts, hesitant to land on that purity.

Alyce took a deep breath, and his burst out of him as the cool silk filled his palms.

She tipped her head back, and the sweet thrust of her breasts stroked up to his fingertips. Raw lust closed his grip, gentled only by the tremor in his muscles. The instinct to overwhelm her shook him to the core.

He was not that man.

His body listened only to the tactile scuff of lace against the pads of his fingers. The sensation abraded the wisps of his restraint.

In one caress, he pushed the straps down her shoulders and unhooked the back, freeing her. She had such pale skin. Had it ever seen sunlight?

Never mind the hot eye of the sun; had any gaze at all but his rested here?

Mine. The impulse was so archaic, so primitive, he blushed at it. Not Homo sapiens at all, but Neanderthal. Where was his fucking club?

Her hands went to his fly, and he groaned.


She freed his heavy flesh as smoothly as he’d stripped her. He hissed out another breath when she grazed his hip bones as she peeled down the waistband of his jeans. They moved together, and her quick fingers undid the buttons of his shirt.
Pressed skin to hot skin, he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself.

But with eyes closed, his other senses only expanded. Hearing her gasp as she rubbed against his chest, he inhaled the heat and fragrance of her breath. His taut muscles raged against the confines of his will. Each rock of their knees on the mattress threatened to overturn him, demanding he take her down.

Not a man, not even a primordial hunter, but a beast.

The howl of recognition in him tore through the last of his self-possession.

He yanked out of his shirt—a button popped at the wrist—and he tipped her to her back.

She stared up, eyes bright and bold, as she kicked off the white panties.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

“And naked,” she said.

As if he might have missed it. “Do tell.”

She smiled and opened her arms.

The smile, simple and welcoming, ripped through him. “You want this?”

“No more words. You need this too.”

He did. As he’d never wanted anything so much. Not even the Bookkeeper’s archive key.

He couldn’t speak that, and apparently he wasn’t thinking again either, because somehow she had rolled him, and now she hovered over him, the last of his discarded clothing dropping from her hand.

“Now I’m naked,” he pointed out.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Her lips descended, moonset slow in the darkness, inevitable. Her kiss touched down, and, hidden below the horizon of their coupled mouths, the arc of her tongue stroked his. Like some ancient mythology, her shadowed mysteries drew him deeper.

In the yielding of her body, he found himself above her again, the edges of his vision narrowing so only she remained, pale skin on white sheets, her dark hair spread like an inverse halo—a damned angel.

Book 4 of the Marked Souls

The war between good and evil has raged for millennia, and as a powerful new enemy ascends, the Marked Souls
are pushed to the ragged edge…

Alyce Carver has been alone longer than she can remember, battered by the living nightmares that haunt her city. Cornered by yet another gang of demons, she unwittingly joins forces with a handsome scholar who can salvage her past, and she in turn may be the key to his investigations. But sSidney Westerbrook has always studied darkness and damnation from a sensible distance. Now, to earn his place as a league Bookkeeper, he must discover why Chicago is such a battleground of soul-linked warriors. But the research becomes personal when he finds himself over his head and under attack — and at the mercy of a waif with demon-lit eyes and a deep yearning in her heart.

he won’t let him go until he shows her everything she’s been missing.

What begins as an experiment in possession becomes a trial by desire so powerful it threatens both their lives, even as it binds their souls.

Read Chapter 1

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