When I asked PG if she had a sexy excerpt this was her answer.
A: Here’s one. It’s an oldie but (hopefully) a goodie. This is from A Taste of Honey (Oberon, book 4) and it’s always been one of my favorite scenes.
Dan opened his eyes again when he felt Lucy crawl up from the bottom of the bed to slide on top of him. There was a steady fire burning in her eyes now, and a tiny hint of a smile on her lips. But before he’d had a chance to process any of it, she’d lowered her head and kissed him, full on the mouth; her tongue practically demanding entrance, sinking home as soon as he opened for it.
He reached for her again, half expecting that she’d push his hands away. When she didn’t, his hold on her tightened. Wrapping one arm across her back, spearing his other hand up into her hair, he held her motionless, trapped against him, as he kissed her back with a fierceness so intense that even he was startled by it. He felt the shuddered intake of her breath, and then she was settling herself more fully on top of him, all her softness pressing against him.
“Yes!” He wasn’t sure if he’d growled the word aloud, or merely thought and felt it, as it reverberated through him. Oh, man, she felt so damn good. But she was just plain crazy if she thought he could give her up again after tonight. He rolled until he had her pinned beneath him. He’d never have enough of her. Never. Never. Never.
And he was never going to let her go, either. So, she could just forget about that part, ‘cause that was not gonna happen.
He lifted his head, ready to look her in the eye and tell her how it was going to be, but she opened lambent, slumberous eyes to gaze back up at him, and his breath caught in his throat. The words he’d been planning to say just died on his lips. Ah, God, he loved her. He’d always loved her, and he didn’t suppose he was ever going to stop. But, who was he kidding? He wasn’t the one calling the shots here anymore. If he ever had been. And if she really wanted to go, or wanted him gone, what could he do about it?
Nothing, that’s what.
But nobody was going anywhere tonight.
He bent his head to kiss her again. A soft sip of a kiss, this time. Their lips barely touching, barely tasting, before he’d pulled away to look at her again, to enjoy the heat that flared in her eyes, and in her cheeks. He altered the angle of his head a little and bent to kiss her again, just as softly. And then he did it again, and again, and–
He felt her shift beneath him with restless urgency. Her breath came out on an impatient whimper. And when her lips tried to hold to his longer, to draw the kisses out, to make them last, he made them swifter, shallower, even shorter than before.
Now it was his turn–when she reached up, hands trembling, to hold him still–to pull those hands away and pin them to the bed, to lower his mouth to within several centimeters of hers and…pause there. Moving–just slightly–from side to side, but never any closer, touching her lips only with his breath. And then, almost as lightly, with his tongue.
He raised his head again. Her eyes were dark, smoldering coals. Now, he thought suddenly, ask her now! If he asked her for anything right now, she’d give it to him. She’d promise him forever as the price for just one kiss. But what good were the words she spoke tonight, if tomorrow they’d be recanted? They’d be even more worthless than his own foolish promise had been. Never to ask her for anything more? How could he ever hope to keep to that?
“Dan?” Her voice was barely a breath of a sound. Her tongue ran nervously over her lips, and he could read desire and worry and confusion in her eyes. And if he thought he saw anything else there, well, what of it? There had to be something left of all the love they’d shared, didn’t there? A faint trace, one tiny spark. Whatever it was, it was his. He smiled as he gazed into her eyes. His. He’d put it there, and it belonged to him. And if he chose to use that spark tonight, to warm away all the cold places in his soul, well, he had that right.
He felt her breath catch, felt the tremor that went through her, and then her lips curved up in an answering smile. And if he chose to believe that the worry and confusion he had seen in her eyes a moment earlier had disappeared, swallowed up by the heat; if he chose to believe that his spark had caught fire, and that the look on her face now, was one he’d seen there countless times before, well he had that right, too.
Even knowing it was probably illusion, a mirage, an echo from a lifetime ago, he would take it. Even knowing that it was a dream that might melt away come morning, and that tomorrow she would most likely look at him, instead, the way she had earlier today, and all last week– But no, he wouldn’t think about that, right now. He wouldn’t think about tomorrow, or forever, or any time beyond tonight.
And tonight…tonight he wouldn’t think of anything at all, except the woman in his bed. He let go of her hands then, and he bent his head, and he kissed her, hard. And when he felt her hands reach up to hold him, and when she kissed him back, he gladly went up in flames for her.
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