I’ve been dipping in and out of the same work in progress over the last few months and have shared bits of it here from time to time. Today I’m working on a scene that requires a great deal of research but is proving to be deliciously hot regardless. So I thought I’d share a snippit from my progress.
Just to set the scene a little; my main character has found herself sold into the harem of the sultan. She is less interested in seducing him, specifically, as anyone who will grant her access to the room where the phoenix feathers, her feathers, are kept. She needs to steal them and burn them. Only then will they return to their place as part of her whole. When the sultan goes away to war she finds the weakness she needs in the head guard of the harem.
The knot in Ahid’s throat bobbed when my nails skimmed along his collarbone. His body was one of angles and flat planes and I followed them down his chest, stomach, and paused at the twist of his sash. His breath came in deep gasps as if he’d run from one of the great, maned lions and a fine sheen turned his skin slick and filled my nose with the musky scent of him.
I found a twisted scar beneath his robes. A tear tracked down his cheek as I followed it; a vicious, gnarled line from his hip down to his thigh. How, I wondered, had he lived through such a wound? I knew his difference then, and his sadness. Ahid had never been that little boy cut and healed with as much care as is ever given a slave. He had been more man than boy when he lost his manhood. I mapped the loss with both hands, stroking and caressing until he sagged against the wall. Salty drops splashed from his jaw to his chest. In my thrall he turned without hesitation, following the urging of my hands. I pressed myself to his back, my breasts to the scars that criss-crossed him there. No, Ahid would never have been a willing slave. His ass flexed beneath my touch and he trembled when I carefully spread him.
I’m back to writing, now…but stay tuned for more from this manuscript!