Please welcome back Livia Quinn. Livia, do you have a sexy excerpt you’d like to share with us?
I’d love to. This is the first love scene between my Tempestaerie, Tempe Pomeroy, and her human sheriff boyfriend, Jack Lang, from Cry Me a River.
Looks like faking it will be out of the question…
The term “fly apart in my arms” took on a whole new meaning. I’d lied to Tempe. My best guess had been memories of thousands of jet flights and the excitement of revisiting them, but this was more, it was primal; it was unearthly; it was tied to the storm woman I was buried inside. I didn’t want our lovemaking to end. I’d felt like this when I flew F-18s, suspected it was like doing crack—the rush, the heightened response, the ecstasy.
No, this was more than primal, more than leaving the bounds of the earth. Images of roiling clouds, racing stars and eyes with meteor showers in them preceded a loud crack. I felt the lightning bolt between my thighs, heard thunder in my groin, and heat exploded along my shaft as I claimed this woman for my own.
She screamed, “Ah Jaluu,” and I knew in my heart, in that part of me that had longed for someone like her who could be the one, that her soul called to mine. I thought I’d been ready for this, but I’d been as much a virgin as I had as a fifteen-year-old. Nothing could’ve prepared me for this—for her.
Her hands dug into my shoulders as she joined the stars or storms or wherever she went. Her skin sparkled like the iridescent light filtering in through the skylights. A distinctive, translucent pink cast was tinting her hair an even deeper red, her flesh hot to the touch. I trailed my fingers down over her breasts, cupping them, rising enough to nip at the hot, turgid tips, when my gaze caught on the scraps of material at her hips.
The edges of the cami she’d worn were charred, the panties as well. Only enough lilac remained that I could identify them. I looked at the mattress beneath us. There was a ring of fire, and scorched black what-used-to-be sheets in the outline of our bodies, like a controlled burn at the edge of a wildfire.
A wildfire begun by a lightning strike. It had been real, not just my imagination. And I wasn’t even singed.
“Jesus, sweetheart, you give new meaning to the word, ‘hot’. You set the sheets on fire.”
I pointed to the air, flickering like indoor heat lightning but gradually fading. Then down at the bed. “Look’s like faking it will be out of the question for you, honey.”
Join me next Thursday when my fellow Resplendence Author Cammie Eicher joins us. ~Tina