And since it's Midsummer, here's a midsummer romp from my magical/pagan novella Summer Seduction:
"Shy and self-conscious librarian Liz Haven has lost her job and home, and is desperately grateful when a long-forgotten relative invites her to come live at her eerie old house in the rural West of England. Liz hasn’t been there since childhood, and her memories of the place are strangely blurred. When she does return to Enniswitrin House she finds herself the focus for the attentions of a series of handsome but strange men, yet she also realizes that Great-aunt Moira is far from the harmless old lady she seems. Moira has plans for Liz that she is not telling, and there is magic at work here. Real magic — as dark and thrilling and primal as desire itself. Each of her would-be lovers needs something from Liz that goes deeper than just the hot and increasingly transgressive sex. Liz is being seduced into a role she could not imagine, at the center of a web of ancient legend and mystery that will change everything."
Shane grinned suddenly. “It’s just you and me here.”
It took a moment for Liz to catch up with his meaning. Trying to control her pounding heart and her heaving lungs, she put her hand on his chest, feeling him warm and solid and real. Everything else—the Green Knight and the fire and the cattle and the village hall and the rest of her life—seemed flimsy and translucent in comparison. It was all too much to think about. So much easier to see only what was before her, within the grasp of her hands. She reached up to touch his warm throat, feeling the thrum of his blood.
“Liz,” he whispered.
She’d never known anyone like him. A man so full of life. It couldn’t be constrained; it flowed out of him like light, like fire. It burned.
“Liz,” he whispered again, leaning in so that his forehead rested gently against hers. His lips sought her own, soft and sweet and full of dangerous longing. She could taste the question on them. At the same time she could feel his hands on her hips. She could feel the hardness of the length that pressed against her through his jeans.
Do I want this? she asked herself.
“Yes,” she whispered in answer. Yes—oh hell YES!
Gently he backed her up to the verge of the road, and then he stooped and slid his big hands around her ass and lifted her—light as a feather—to sit her down on a stone wall. It put them almost nose-to-nose, height-wise. He opened her legs and stepped between her knees so that he could kiss her again, this time deeper. Tongues met.
He tasted of cider and fire.
His hands were on her spread knees. His hands were under her skirt. His hands were up, up, all the way, fingertips to her hips, thumbs brushing and then stroking the silky cloth of her panties. The itch of need flared out from her clit until it seemed to set her whole body alight. She bit his lower lip, softly, panting.
Touch me. Touch me like that oh yes oh god a bit farther down oh please please PLEASE!
“Oh chrissakes Liz,” he groaned. “You know I want you, don’t you?
“Uh huh,” she groaned as his hands moved on her, his knuckles pressed and rubbed, his fingers probed.
“Really, really want you. You’re like… I want every bit of you—I want to get all over you…those gorgeous sweet tits of yours—your beautiful big arse—I could just…oh fuck you’re driving me crazy, Liz!”
It wasn’t exactly poetry and it wasn’t romantic, but it was entirely sincere, and Liz loved every hoarse and heartfelt syllable. She wound her arms around his neck and bit at his ear.
“Say yes, Liz, my sweet, my lovely.”
“Yes.”
“Oh hell yes…”
“Where?”
“Here.” He started to tug at her panties. “Oh fuck. I can’t wait any longer.”
They were up a side street, on a wall, in the dark—so maybe they’d go unseen, though she could hear music and shouting still from the village green. At the moment it didn’t seem to matter much. There was a raging wet ache of need in her sex that didn’t want to wait either, and that knew it needed Shane to fill it. The whole reckless crazy night demanded culmination. “Have you brought protection?” she hissed.
“Huh?” Shane paused in his quest, her knickers already halfway down her thighs. “No…”
“Oh no,” she keened. And she forced herself to say it; “Then it’s not happening.” She wanted to scream with frustration. “Oh no, this is so not fair!”
“Wait. Wait.” He kissed her lips fervently. “It’s all right, my lovely, it’s all right.”
“No it’s not—when am I ever—?” When am I ever going to get a chance like this again?
“Shhh!” He gripped the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her mouth against his so that they panted together. His other hand, hidden beneath her bunched-up skirts, cupped her open pussy like an answer to prayer. Fingertips traced the wet slot, danced a circle about the slick nub of her clit, and set wildfire burning to light the midsummer night.
“Oh!” she whimpered, shocked.
“That’s sweet,” he whispered. “That’s good.”
She clasped his face like she was drowning and trying to cling to him, but her sight was glazing over already. The all-too-knowing, relentless tease of his fingers on her sex was more than she could bear. The waves of pleasure slithered over each other, rose, crashed, and rose again building higher.
“Oh god, Shane!”
“Give it up, my lovely, that’s right,” he urged her, low and thick in his throat. “Give it up to me.”
She knew she should say No. She knew she should be ashamed of being played with right here in the street, too turned-on to stop, her knees spread and jerking. She knew she should be ashamed that it wasn’t his bullish, boyish need that was overwhelming them both; he wasn’t the one who couldn’t hold back; he wasn’t the one witless with arousal. It was her. She needed this.
She was the one who was wet.
She was the one swollen and slippery and shuddering with lust.
She was the one moaning into his mouth, making helpless animal noises that cascaded out of her open throat.
And then she was the one coming, shamelessly.
When the last of the tension had ebbed from her quivering frame, Shane kissed her again. “That’s right,” he told her.
“Oh god, Shane!” He’d robbed her of her senses. He’d made her do something she’d never dreamt of doing in public. Her whole body pulsed with the afterwash of her climax, and her dress clung to her damp skin.
His lips brushed the whorl of her ear. “Touch me, Liz,” he breathed, squeezing her juicy sex.
“Huh?”
“Please, touch me.” There was dew on his upper lip. “I’m fucking begging you, my lovely.”
“This?” Liz dropped her hand to his groin, groping the thick length that pressed up against the denim. Shane groaned.
“Take it out. Go on. Touch it.”
Like an earth shock following a major quake, a spasm flickered through her, deep inside, just at the thought. She wanted to see the beastie that had been bruising her all night. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to strip him naked and run her hands over his lanky, wonderful body before it was too late and she lost her chance forever.
“Please,” he whispered, lost in his need.
Underneath his white shirt was a belt cinch and a button and a zipper. Her hands felt clumsy on the fastenings, but he held back his impatience. And when she pulled down the elastic of the cotton briefs beneath, she almost giggled in shock at the way his cock did not just slip out—no, it bounced out like a sprung toy, half-comical and half-appalling in its urgency. Wholly impressive in its dimensions though, she quickly discovered. Liz would admit that she didn’t have that much practical experience in the cock department, but this was rather more than she’d imagined—thick, ridged with a single bulging vein, and hot to the touch. Like his hands and his shoulders, it seemed out of proportion to his youthful frame. When she wrapped her hand around its girth, she found she could hardly get thumb and fingertip to meet.
Shane was a big, big boy.
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