...Because in fiction, anything goes!
It's true. There is nothing that is too daring, too grotesque, too unimaginable, because we can and do go there. In my year of being published so far, I've written tales of a contemporary nature, fantasy elves, future aliens with soul-issues and even Doppelgangers. Over the next few months my stories will continue along this strange web as I write about Wraiths and dark cults and even a naughty fairy tale prince who will make you blush every time you pick up the original tale. And I'm just beginning.
I enjoy letting my imagination go. I love the question "what if?" I believe, if you're a writer and do not have this question popping up a zillion times a day, you either have your muses writing your stories for you or you're struggling and don't know why. You have to have the "what if" in your life, or your stories simply cannot be.
Beyond the simply joy of writing fiction, I write erotic fiction. There is a different kind of freedom in writing erotica. By reading and writing in this genre, I can push the boundaries of "what if" into other amazing dimensions.
Earth: Year 2143
Camden made one short sound and stepped close. Deidre tensed as he lifted a wickedly sharp, metallic-tipped finger toward her face. Her breathing quickened, and she tried her best not to move. When his bladed hand came so close she could see every serrated notch in detail, she shivered and closed her eyes. Telling herself to pull it together, she looked back up to see he'd stopped. Now that she watched him again, he flipped his wrist and stroked her cheek gently with the warm and dulled backsides of the blades. He drew his hand across her cheek, down her neck, and over to the front of her throat, causing Deidre to shudder at the erotic sensations.
At the base of her throat, he turned his hand so his talons were near her skin, and the sharp tip of one of his fingers hovered. A whisper-soft caress was her only warning before the quick, sharp, shallow sting.
Barely a paper cut, but it hurt. She gritted her teeth and held the sharp intake of breath. Watching his impassive face carefully, she shivered as she realized he knew exactly what he was doing. The cut hadn't been a mistake.
He skip-touched contact with her skin as he trailed his hand down the center of her body, leaving slivers of tiny, shallow cuts. He moved so slowly she found herself anticipating the next contact, the next little bite along her flesh that stirred her arousal.
The tension in her belt went slack, and she knew he'd sliced it in two. It'd been one of her favorite robes, and she'd be mad if he wasn't making her dizzy.
He sank to his knees before her, his head reaching her chin. Snagging the threads of the material of her robe, he pulled it open and tugged it down her arms.
His gaze dropped to her chest, and she instinctively pulled her shoulders back in silent invitation. Watching him and seeing all that sharp metal in his mouth, near her breasts, made her swallow and second-guess her decision. As he came close to a nipple, her mind struggled to register that despite the inherent danger of the situation, her body was turned on more than she could remember. Her defenseless, pebbled nipple had gone so hard it practically strained toward his mouth.
Lightning fast, Camden whipped out his tongue, still thick, yet amazingly long and agile now, and wrapped it once around a straining tip. He tugged, and she went to her toes with a moan. She tunneled her hands through his hair as he pulled back, only to lash against her other breast.
Deidre clung to his hair, working to keep her balance and not let herself crash against his face. A dark thrill raced through her at their minimal contact, especially as his skilled, beast's tongue squeezed and flicked moist heat across her chest.
"Please. More. I don't know if we can do anything more, and if we can't, shift now, Camden. I need you."
She'd never been one to plead and beg, but the morning's emotions had built up inside her, and she needed him to make her come, to make her whole and even better than before.
He backed away and stood, fluid and graceful for something so huge. His underwater-rock-tumbling voice spoke as he stared hard into her eyes.
Deidre caught an image of herself, naked, and on her picnic table. She didn't question or second-guess him, but climbed up on the table…
Wanna read more? Check out Malathix Soul: Jagged, from Changeling Press.
Don't forget to hop around the Naughty After Dark Blog Hop, going on now. The list of hoppers follow.
Oh, I almost forgot, if you comment on this or any of my posts during this hop, you'll be entered for a chance to win a copy of one of my books plus a box of Body Finger Paints (non-US will get a gift certificate) CLICK HERE for the nitty-gritty details of the prize).
Enjoy the hop!
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