Since I'm off to Smut by the Sea this weekend, I thought I'd post a seasidey excerpt from one of my old stories. This is NOT the excerpt I'll be reading on Saturday - we were warned to "err on the side of caution" for the live event, and "don't make anybody cry".
:-)
So - an excerpt from Bear Skin, my novella in the Magic and Desire collection, which is still available on Kindle:
The East Wind didn’t bother with a vehicle; he simply picked me and my rucksack up and stepped off the edge of the roof, whirling me westward through the sleet. We landed on a sunlit beach; on the turf of the low cliff-edge above the sand, clumps of daffodils nodded.
The West Wind looked considerably younger than his brother; younger maybe than me. He had salt-tousled brown hair that hung in wet curls and he wore his wetsuit open to the waist and hanging down. His bare torso was tanned and toned and lithe. He wasn’t alone; his friends sat with him on the warm sand, tins of energy-drink in hand, their surfboards propped close by. They were the only people on the beach.
‘This is Hazel,’ said the East Wind, drawing me into their circle. ‘She wants you to take her East of the Sun and West of the Moon, brother.’ Then he was gone in a skirl of dry sand.
‘Why’d you want to go there?’ the West Wind asked.
This one was a cocky young beggar, I thought. I stood up straighter. They were all watching me and looking amused, but it didn’t matter to me anymore. I wasn’t ashamed. ‘Because I love Arailt,’ I said.
His lip curled prettily. ‘You don’t love him. You barely know him.’
I felt like he’d punched me in the guts. ‘I know him enough.’
‘Any idea what he was doing when he was out all day?’
I shook my head.
‘He was out hunting.’
‘Hunting what?’
‘His family.’
I remembered the only words he’d ever let slip about his family: that they’d sold him to the Queen of Shadows. I remembered the smoke smell and the blood. I turned the words of the West Wind carefully over in my mind and then let them settle to the bottom of my skull. ‘I see.’
‘Does that make a difference to how you feel about him?’
How could it not? ‘I love him,’ I answered flatly.
The West Wind smiled cynically. ‘You’re just afraid you’ve blown it, Hazel. You’re just scared you’ll never get a chance at someone that hot again, that you’ll have to settle for dross. You’re scared that it’ll never be that good with anyone else.’
My mouth was dry. ‘That’s not … No.’
‘Forget him, darling. Go home. Mourn, and recover. Fall in love properly with someone of your own sort.’
‘No,’ I said hoarsely. ‘I love him.’
The West Wind grinned, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. ‘Prove me wrong, and I’ll take you to my brother. The South Wind will be able to carry you there.’
‘If that’s what it takes, then.’
He stood with an insouciant grin. ‘You’ll love it, darling,’ he said, slipping the top button of my shirt. ‘Every inch.’
Slowly, with appreciation, he stripped off my shirt and threw it to one of his friends. Then he kissed me, his lips sweet and teasing, and while I was distracted they all closed on me. There were nearly a dozen of them, I guessed, though I hadn’t actually counted. I felt their hands on my back and rump and thighs. One knelt to slip off my shoes. Fingers unhooked my bra and and tickled my spine and explored the flat curve of my belly as they eased my jeans fly down. I shut my eyes. They stripped me naked, there on the beach, under the brittle spring sunshine. I would have been cold but the breeze had dropped to nothing and my whole body was blushing under the caress of those hands. The youths murmured and chuckled with pleasure with every discovery they made. They pulled me back on my heels, all my weight resting against three spare, warm bodies, while roaming hands explored me from head to toe, tugging my nipples and delving into the crease between my thighs. When I opened my eyes it was on a blur of floppy hair, narrow chins, lean muscular arms, hairless torsos. They smelled of the sea and their fingers tasted of salt.
‘Lift her,’ said the West Wind gently and they grasped my all down the length of my back and arse and legs, easing my thighs open as they raised me from the earth. I felt weightless, afloat on a sea of hands. Their hard arms and chests pressed against me. I tried to focus on the West Wind himself, who stood between my parted knees. He’d peeled his wetsuit down to his thighs by now and his cock stood proud in his slim hand. His scrotum was hairless. He looked so boyishly pretty that even at that moment I felt as if it were I leading him astray, but there was nothing innocent about his eyes. ‘Tell me,’ he said, stroking his lustrous prick until it jerked, ‘that this isn’t what you really miss.’ He stepped forward and pressed his flushed crown into the wet furrow that his friends had prepared for him, slipping it from clit to bum-hole and back. ‘Tell me it isn’t cock you want, darling.’ He shifted his hips and slid into me with a slight grunt. His friends were breathing hard, watching, fascinated. ‘Arailt’s cock,’ he growled, working his own deeper with measured thrusts, pressing up to me till I felt his fat charged balls on my cheeks. Each plunge lifted and dropped me in their hands, like a wave. ‘A big cock.’ He found my clit with his thumb. ‘My big cock. Feels good doesn’t it? Just as good. That’s what you want isn’t it? You enjoying that? You feeling that right inside you? You taking it as deep as you can, darling, oh yes, taking it good and proper now aren’t you? Oh yes, I like to hear that; you tell it like it is.’
If he said more than that I didn’t hear him. I was too busy making noises of my own. I came with my head thrown back and jammed between two hard male stomachs. They shoved fingers down my throat as I thrashed, as if to feel my cries.
Afterwards they laid me on the sand and took it in turn to stuff their pricks between my lips and unload. They were young; some couldn’t hold out that long and spurted on my breasts and thighs. I regretted every one of the salt sea-spume ejaculations that I didn’t get to taste, but I rubbed them into my skin and licked my fingers and opened my mouth and my thighs for more. They had the vigour of youth too; several came back for seconds. The West Wind kept claim on my sex though; working me with fingers when he was resting. I was so wet I could hear the squelch of juices as he thrust.
I was encrusted with sand by the time we were done, my hair in sticky disarray, my limbs heavy as if I’d swum for miles.
‘Are you sure you still love him?’ the West Wind asked, sweet and low, his lips brushing mine.
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Yes.’
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