Thursday, August 30, 2012

WRITERS WRITE....WRITING PARTNERS FEUD ~ BOOK NOOKIE EXCERPT 5

A Hot-Hot Greetings to all those in reader-land!

With Vixen Bright's and Zachary Zane's BOOK NOOKIE-A LIBRARIAN'S GUIDE TO THE DO-ME DECIMAL SYSTEM  about to be released we'd like to share the final excerpt from the beginning of each of the
books vignettes.  We hope you enjoyed and want to read more...more...more...!

A:  You know this is shameless self-promotion for our alter-egos, don't you?
Z:  Your point?
A:  Errrr....ummmm...guess I don't have one.  (Big grin)

The Story:

At the library, while the facially scared Kathryn Pines obsesses over books,Keen Edge appears out of nowhere. Looking exactly like the sizzling hunk on a book cover, he invites Kathryn to journey with him into stories, she the heroine, he the hero. Every lusty, luscious, whimsical adventure is overlaid with elements of bondage and submission.

Kathryn surrenders to the passions and adventures of four tales raging from contemporary to fantasy, and soon loses her heart to Keen. Keen, though, isn’t just a character in a book and his invitation to forever might be more ominous than it appears.
Excerpt:
from PLATINUM ARROW

While seated on hide covered pedestals, lads and maidens, brought

food and drink to Keen and Kat as the festivities unfolded.

They knew each other as children, having been taught by many of

the same marital artists, but hadn’t seen each other since adolescence. They

were now mature adults, at the piqued of their strength and virility, and they

were more than curious at how the other maturated.

Kat sipped her honeyed spiced mélange, obtrusively taking in Keen,

her opponent. She flashed back to the scrawny youth he had been. She

remembered their exchange of smiles, neither aware of the barrier between

them until now. A joining could never occur for each would fight for their

clan, and only one could survive. Somehow, she couldn’t view him as an

enemy, for they had a warrior’s honor in common, and each would fight for

the exact same cause.

The woman in her found her studying the man he had become,

feeling those stimulating passions she had continually suppressed, knowing

all her focus lent itself to honing her skills as a warrior. This singular

moment provided a lull, and she was free to enjoy the allure of him.

She viewed with utter enthrallment the muscles that had thickened

from his expanse of chest and arms to the dense length of long legs. Every bit

of him was defined as if he had been born of rock, now chiseled to

perfection. Crisscrossing straps, festooned with spiked balls, mental claws,

and lethal throwing stars adorned a rugged chest, one she felt drawn to knead

and explore. Other bands laced his mighty forearms, also with an assortment

of small but lethal weaponry while a broadsword, honed from the finest

bronze, within its own hand fashioned sheath, pressed against his back. Not

that she was alien to enjoying the form of men, Keen, though, came to her

with a different fascination, one more oddly personal.

Longish, jet black hair hinted at bluish streaks while light gray eyes

boosted splinters of a dusky slate color. She felt those eyes looking through

her, and liked how they lingered in her thoughts. His cheekbones, one marred

by a deep scar in the shape of a crescent moon, nose and chin had the same

sharp edges as his body, all seemingly sculptured by a pristine artisan. Kat

found him handsome.

His hands caught her interest. Large and littered with small scars,

they appeared to have enough strength to break bones. Yet, as she stared, her

mind bypassed a warrior’s muse. She imagined those hands upon her body,

running down her arms, slipping behind her and squeezing her ass. She had

seen the beasts rutting in the fields, and discovered an urge to emulate those

beasts, to do so with him. The quick, sudden thought caught her unawares.

Yet that image brought her to the dark drape of cloth settled upon his hips,

just covering his cockage, which she knew hung free. It would take but a

breeze to juxtaposition the toga, she considered, to unveil that prize, and she

wanted to see. Even more, she wanted to experience the plunge of it, perhaps

feel it slide between her fingers. She sensed the impropriety of that imagery

but dismissed it, knowing she was an adult woman.

He looked away at one of the concubines, his stare devouring the

woman’s ass. Kat, knowing her ass was superior, clenched jowl. For one

brief moment, she sensed the uniqueness of jealousy. Why? She knew. In

some odd but logical way, because they were linked in this ritual, Keen was

hers.

At that instant, as if sensing his duty to her, his steely gaze collided

with hers, and as if knowing her thoughts, a grin somewhat reminiscent of

what they used to share, appeared. Did he know I was covetous? She smiled

back. I bet he does, and taunts for the fun. There it was, the playfulness she

recalled, as if they were once again those naive young ones, who kept trying

to best the other with no thought to where their reality would lead them.

Yet the grins only flashed, gone so swiftly one would wonder if it

they had ever been. However, what assuredly remained was his open

appraisal of her.

He didn’t care to lend himself to obscure observance as she had, but

instead claimed a brazen boldness.

At first glance, her long slight frame would fool many as to the

extent of her strength, but he seemed to see beyond that to the defined

muscles, not protruding boulders, but sinewy and tight. Keen understood the

hours of hard training and found himself sensing a resounding respect for her

physicality, yet sensing he was being yanked by the raw lushness of her

beauty. At that point in time, he mentally flogged himself for the words, raw

lushness yet they were apt.

Pride resonated from her awareness of a warrior’s strength; arms he

surmised could easily bear the weight of a bison’s calf. But power alone

failed to define Kat. There was a primitive beguiling honesty about her sex

appeal, not lost to Keen’s eye.

Her choice for her warrior’s regalement, unique for a female,

reflected the traditional male’s bare chest, almost metaphorically and

defiantly declaring I am more than woman, I am the warrior disciple of

Amor, goddess of Eros. Full unadorned breasts were round and perfectly

formed with a rich deep blush settled upon taut, perky nipples. Her waist

indented, her stomach was flat with slight definition of layered muscles.

Slenderness attached itself to her legs, but those, too, were fierce, hard and

adorned with more than a few abrasions and cuts, a testament to recent

training. A mace wound left the three punctures marks while parallel lines of

damaged flesh streaked one cheek. She, like warriors of her ilk, bore these

scars as badges of grand valor, offered only to the courageous and heroic.

Boots, harboring various daggers and blades, ended at her ankles.

Yet if one traversed in the opposite direction the mystery unfolded. His gaze

lingered at the joining of her legs where a triangular band barely covered her

twat. That and the leathery bindings laced up one leg to hold an assortment of

weapons from well-sharpened caltrops to throwing spikes to iron talons were

her only coverings, yet he wanted one scant bit of garment gone. Why? One

corner of his mouth ascended into his cheek, as he said in a low tone,

“Curiosity.”

He tore his gaze away and he followed the curve of her upward. A

cord of leather gathered up long dark auburn hair into a ponytail that

cascaded in unruly curls. Smaller bands of leather, spaced at intervals,

gathered those wild strands, but many escaped creating a rebellious halo. Her

irises were exceptionally large eyes were as blue as a placid winter lake. The

rest of her features were pleasing, not arrogant or hard, actually they were

surprisingly gentle, a pink budding of lips, a slender snip of a nose with the

expected splattering of freckles against a sun dusted complexion. Any man

would see her as a desirable wrench first, one thrown over his shoulder to be

rough-hewn enjoyment. But that illusion would be a mistake, she was no

submissive.

Keen couldn’t help wondering at the taste of her. Would her mouth

be sweet? Would her puss be the nectar of the gods? Would her flesh be

salty? He knew he’d never get his answers, but he couldn’t stop musing. His

mind ravished her. His lips tormented hers. The unbridled psyche of men

often raced toward a certain satisfaction every male craved. What would

taking her be like? His arrogance insisted it would be stupendous, as his

swell invaded her cunt, plunging deep and hard. His loincloth tented, and he

realized she noticed. He smiled proudly, and saluted her twice.

A lusty tug pulled at them, urged them to move closer. It was as if

invisible cords began to tighten, and if they didn’t comply, the cords would

force them together, bind them.

****
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Angelica Hart and Zi KILLER DOLLS ~ SNAKE DANCE ~
CHASING YESTERDAY CHRISTMAS EVE...VIL ~ Christmas 2012
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane STEEL EMBRACE
BOOK NOOKIE-A LIBRARIAN'S BUIDE TO THE DO-ME DECIMAL SYSTEM  (coming soon)
http://www.carnalpassions.com/

THE FABLE OF SIN-SIN CINDERELLA Series
angelicahartandzi.com

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