It’s that time again folks!
Today’s What’s the Scenario Wednesday and this week’s theme is HOT KISSES! Yes hot kisses that melt in your mouth and make you want to use your hands;)
For this week’s theme I’m taking an excerpt from my historical novella, The Merry Widow.
Setting: Victorian England, a townhome in Mayfair
Scene: Widow Phillipa Jones has hired a male companion to help abate her feelings of living several years alone after the untimely death of her husband. Although she’s only hired Reggie for the occassional dinner or game of cards, her unlikely hero wants more…a kiss.
The Merry Widow
“You think my lips are enticing?”
“Mmm…hmm,” he murmured, his finger tracing her lips. “But for me to be a hundred per cent sure, I should be allowed to taste them.” His fingers trailed from her lips to slide along her jaw. Instinctively, Phillipa turned her head towards his touch. A sigh escaped her slightly parted lips as a jolt of heat shot down her spine when his thumb brushed her cheek.
“I think that would be most inappropriate,” she breathed. “But…since these are special circumstances-”
“Then a kiss would be most warranted,” he finished for her. The sensual timbre of his voice effectively stemmed her growing anxiety at allowing a complete stranger such liberties. So much so, that she didn’t move when he lowered his head and placed a light kiss on each of her cheeks.
Even though she should, she didn’t protest when he melded his muscular frame against her own -his hard chest flattened her ample bosom and his cock pressed against her belly.
While he nibbled on her lips, Phillipa parted her own without any coaxing from him. Not because she’d suddenly found it difficult to breath, but because she was eager to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh once again. And she was no longer going to be denied after being alone for so long.
“Kiss me…please.” Phillipa reached up, placed her palms on his broad shoulders, and rubbed them against the warm wool of his evening jacket. To her surprise, the slight friction of her skin against the course fabric sparked her rising ardor.
Wanting more, she slipped her hands inside of the tailored garment and slid her hands greedily over the soft linen of his shirt. To her delight, his muscles bunched and rolled under her touch.
Phillipa opened her mouth again, this time to demand that he kiss her, but his mouth slashed across hers – cutting off her words. But instead of a chaste pressing of lips, she’d read so often in throwaway novels, his tongue pushed past her lips – to plunder her mouth.
For several moments, she lay there as an inactive participant. His kisses assaulted her basic tendencies almost to the point of overwhelming her. However, as his tongue swirled inside her mouth touching pressure points that triggered long dormant sensations, she finally awakened.
Her nipples hardened and a vibration, she’d not experienced in several years, settled between her thighs.
Attuned to his mouth’s movements, she began to match them. When his tongue flicked at the top of her mouth, she followed suit. When he nipped at her bottom lip, she bit his as well.
When did she forget to breathe? she wondered, while their tongues dueled. When did the simple act of breathing become secondary to being kissed by him? Not caring one way or the other if she would die of suffocation, she didn’t break off their kiss even when she became light headed and fell into him.
She must have startled him because he unexpectedly pulled back from her, his chest heaving heavily as he supported her in his arms. Feeling strangely bereft, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back to her. But he shook his head.
“No, ma petite fille. I’m greedy for your other lips,” her purred.
She looked at him in confusion. The change in his eyes gave her pause. Where they’d once been light brown, they were now an inky black – Their depths swirling with desire.
“M-m-my other lips?” she asked, her voice rising on the last syllable because his hand unexpectedly bunched into her gown and her hem was rising faster than the River Thames.
Phillipa’s heartbeat quickened when his hand disappeared under her skirt and slowly traveled over her silk stocking and up the inside of her thigh. She gasped when he made quick work of her drawers laying them open to his questing fingers, which dipped inside and parted the crisp curls covering her quim.
“Yesss, ma petit fille. I want to taste you here.”
He’d called her his little girl! That and the hand resting against her womanhood sent a shiver of pleasure shooting through her body causing her toes to curl. Phillipa reached down, took a hold of the hem of her dressing gown and hiked it up over her hips.
NEED MORE HOT KISSES TO REV UP YOUR HUMP DAY? VISIT THE FOLLOWING AUTHOR’S BLOG AND PUCKER UP:
To read another excerpt of The Merry Widow visit Red Sage Publishing
Past What’s the Scenario Wednesdays: