Please enjoy the following excerpt from Monica’s steamy new lesbian erotic romance novel:

© 2010 by Monica Conti

Chiara stood by the window watching the people moving along W. Peachtree as she sipped her coffee and thought about the day ahead. Her raven hair was swept off her face and fell in waves around high cheekbones. The […]

James climbed the stairs to his chamber in the early hours of the morning after the last of the guests had clambered into their cold carriages spent and weary. He saw no sign of Missy. The relief that washed over him was both humbling and maddening.The kiss had had him tied up […]

Detective Valentina Kureyev had been assigned to one of the worst cases of the century. A serial killer haunted the streets, depositing bloodless corpses throughout the section of town known as Little Europe. She hadn’t a clue to the identity of the culprit, as the appearance of more bodies had begun to cause terror and […]

Lucien D’ Angel is a celebrated paranormal detective with a lucrative television show and numerous best selling books pertaining to the world that may exist beyond the human experience. He’s managed to keep the proverbial low profile over the decades and has purposely stayed out of the public eye, due to a secret that he […]

 
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EXCERPT:

“My Lisette,” he took my hands in his and brought me to my feet. “Stand up and turn around.”

I did as I was told. I could hear his breath, heavy with anticipation. He slipped the straps of the worn chemise over my shoulders and it fell to the floor. I was naked and shivering. Gathering my hair into a rope of amber, he pulled me back toward him and I felt his bare chest against my back. His mouth moved to my neck and he kissed and sucked while cupping my breast and rubbing my nipple with his free hand.

“Bend forward,” he said, “that’s a good girl.” With the table as my support, I leaned forward and held onto the sides. I felt his eyes on me and a thrill of desire traveled up my spine. To be naked, exposed and vulnerable to this man excited me. When, in these past few years had I allowed myself to be vulnerable to anyone or anything? Why not now?

“You have such a pretty ass, Lisette, so soft, yet firm.” His hands held the cheeks of my ass and spread them gently apart. “Oh god, not yet…” he whispered.

I understood some of what he said but it was mostly the sound of his voice that soothed and had a hypnotic effect on me. Lying prone, I waited while he moved his fingers up and down the center of the two halves of me. Next I felt his warm tongue run the length of the crevice and my thighs began to tremble. I tried to turn around, I wanted to stay and allow him to explore me, yet another part of me was frightened. Without warning, he knelt behind me and stuck his tongue into my pussy. With his hands he grasped the backs of my thighs and spreads my legs a little farther apart. I was afraid I would lose my balance and gripped the sides of the table more tightly. He held me in place with his tongue. I was captured, immobile, except for the involuntary thrusting of my hips. In and out his tongue moved, then it delicately traveled upwards to my clit, which was swollen and throbbing. It was as though I was on fire and I wiggled helplessly beneath him.

She wished he would leave her alone. She even considered putting up the optional privacy window between the front and back of the car. Of course she wasn’t okay. Didn’t he understand just how serious this situation was?

“Want me to turn the radio to that funky station you like?”

The “funky” music he referred to was a hip-hop channel that played a combination of some rock, some rhythm and blues, and a bit of rap. It was actually the most listened to station of the area. It was also Patrick’s favorite. The old man had odd
tastes. One of her grandfather’s rules was that the station had to be turned off, or tuned into a classical station unless otherwise requested by the passenger. That rule applied to Chappell family or guests. Patrick was asking if she wanted that
music so he could listen to what he really wanted to. She wondered if he knew she was onto his little deception.

“Sure,” she said.

“Here you go.”

A new Justin Timberlake song filled the car. It didn’t help Angelica to relax. Her chest burned with stress and fear. The air she breathed actually hurt. Her life as she knew it could be over.

After another couple of minutes, Patrick tried again to start a conversation. “This will blow over, honey. Trust me. Everything does. People aren’t going to blame you. Everybody loves you.”

He was so wrong on so many levels. The public would want someone to blame and she would get that honor. She would be crucified. She expected that reaction and it was justifiable. She knew the burden was hers. Truth be told, she didn’t care what people thought and never had. Why should she? She never saw anyone outside of the lab anyway. She didn’t care if people hated her because of Krytonix. She did care that people were going to die because of her drug. It was her failure. It was her responsibility to figure out what was wrong. People’s lives were on the line. She accepted that accountability.

“Oh shit. Hang on.”

The hair on Angelica’s neck stood up when she heard the panic in Patrick’s statement. Her stomach nosedived to her feet and returned in utter turmoil. Her eyes darted to the road to find the source of the problem. They were close to home, a quiet part of town where tourists didn’t venture and traffic was far less dense. The road was curvy, leading to a steep grade to the top of a deserted hillside that held
the Chappell Mansion.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Patrick said again.

They were traveling much too fast for the winding road, even heading uphill. Patrick was wildly stomping on the brake, but nothing was happening. The car continued to accelerate as if he held the gas to the floor. He fought for control of the steering
wheel, but it looked as if it simply rotated round and round with the ease of an arcade game. Patrick’s face was flushed bright crimson and sweating, his eyes wide and glazed.

“Do something!” Angelica cried in desperation, torn between shock and fear.

It was obvious Patrick was doing his best. The sharp curve before them would be upon them in seconds, and unless some kind of miracle intervened, they were going straight ahead—over a sand dune and into the ocean.

Angelica grabbed onto the seat and held as tightly as she could. The car continued to accelerate. Everything seemed loud. Patrick was groaning. The radio was blasting. The roar of the tires was like drums beating a tune of anticipation.

In the last second, when all possible hope of rescue was gone, Patrick screamed. Angelica dipped her head in her lap and closed her eyes. The Lord’s Prayer was on her lips when she felt the car lurch into the air and plummet into empty space.

“Have I plunged from my lofty pedestal, Kate?” The sound of his throatily intoned words filled the air, a swirling mist of enticement apparent in each syllable. “Has the hideousness of my past diminished any of the esteem you may have held?”
“No.”
Her candidly issued response sent a tremor of unspoken relief running through him. She struggled to breathe, inhaling the spicy masculine scent radiating from him. Her body thrummed at his proximity and she swayed. Her heart thundered as his head lowered, the tip of his heated tongue grazing her lower lip and moistening the sensitive flesh. A low-pitched moan escaped her at the tentative touch and her lids fluttered downwards, her body suffusing with an all too familiar flame. Her hands slipped from the pockets of her robe and settled on his shoulders as she tried to remain steady. Kate floundered to suck in a wisp of a strangled gasp as the pressure of his lips brushed her jaw, leaving behind a scintillating trail of fire. Except for the gentle pressure of his mouth against her tender flesh, he didn’t place a hand on her. Kate felt an uncontrollable restlessness arising within her as his hair brushed her face, the unhurried descent of his lips along her neck evoking exasperating quivers of arousal.
“Order me to stop, Kate.” The murmured words were urgently against her skin, hunger evident in each syllable. “Tell me to leave you well enough alone.”
Pulsating with need, Kate grasped at his shirt, her fingers twisting into the material as she rose to the tips of her toes. Dante exhaled deeply, the warmth of his breath inciting an excited chill to rise on her overly sensitized flesh.
“Stop me, Kate.” He groaned, the weak plea issued into her ear. “Stop me and I won’t touch you.”

“I’ve got to find her. She could be in danger,” Emma mumbled and turned to leave.

“No, Emma, listen to me. You have to stay out of the middle of this!”

She glared at him. “She doesn’t have anyone, Shawn.”

He groaned loudly, and cursed again. Emma needed to stay away! Why was he always unable to say no to this woman?

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”

He had to convince her to try Jason’s house before going after Freddie Garrett like the crazy woman had a mind to do. He thought she was unreasonable and overemotional and impossible to please, but he also knew he was madly in love with her. “I’m pretty sure she’s with Ice. She took off the earrings earlier, but the team said they were sure she was with a guy.”

It didn’t take them long to make the trip. A Lexus pulled up behind them in the driveway. It was Jason. “What are you guys doing here? What’s wrong?”

Emma answered. “We’re looking for Leigh.”

Jason swallowed back the panic that those words immediately caused. Leigh was probably just inside. Why the hell hadn’t he come straight home like he’d wanted to? Because Nate said he needed your help and you couldn’t say no, and you convinced yourself that she was smart enough to wait for you. “I just got home. Let’s see if she’s here,” he said calmly.

No one expected to see the house in shambles or Leigh on her knees in Jason’s living room when they walked in. Slick stood in front of her where it looked as if he’d just pushed her there. The air of the house grew thick with expectation as Slick pointed a gun at the three in the doorway. “Come in and shut the door,” he said.

They did as they were told. Instinct directed everyone’s hands up in the air. Leigh was staring at the floor, her face hidden behind her thick, black hair.

Shawn took a step closer, but made no move to draw his own weapon. No one spoke at first, afraid to disrupt the scene or upset the man with the gun.

Slick directed his attention to Jason. “I did a little redecorating. Hope you don’t mind, Ice.” Then, he looked to Shawn. “Just the man I’m looking for. My boss would like to see you, Shawn.”

Emma gasped. Jason’s eyes remained glued to Leigh. Shawn said, “Let my sister go.”

The look in Slick’s eyes never wavered. He continued to look Shawn in the eye when he suddenly backhanded Leigh across the face so hard that a noise echoed in the room as if he’d hit a wall.

Leigh moaned softly. She still did not look at anyone, eyes shut and head bent to the floor.

Jason reacted without thinking when he charged Slick. He was brought up short when the gun redirected to point between his eyes. “Don’t be a hero,” Slick’s velvety voice murmured.

The emotion could be seen surging through Jason as veins popped from his neck. “Stop this!” he roared.

Slick kicked Leigh in the side and repeated, “My boss would like to offer you a job, Shawn.”

Emma began to cry.

Shawn only stared.

Leigh took another kick that made her scream in pain.

Shawn broke his silence. “What do you want from me?”

“You’re a pretty smart guy. I’m sure you can figure out what it means to be on Freddie’s payroll.”

Slick jerked Leigh back to her knees and punched her. “I need an answer, Shawn.”

Emma cried out, “Please, stop this!”

Shawn stepped forward. Tears glistened in his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it.”

Slick withdrew a wad of cash from his right pocket and threw it on the floor. “That will get you started. Freddie will expect to see you at the club to confirm that answer. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I’ll be back to finish this if you don’t cooperate, and I mean soon.”

As soon as the man was gone, Jason was by Leigh’s side. “Leigh, talk to me, sweetheart.”

She was unconscious.

“Call 9-1-1!”

Excerpts from the novel TOMORROW’S WORLD by Steve Nelson
TOMORROW’S WORLD is an erotic Science Fiction novel by Steve Nelson. A man from the 20th Century awakens from a high tech hibernation experiment centuries in the future. In this future world nudity is the norm and sex is the passion.
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Uttering soothing words of comfort, Val sank to her knees before the elderly woman. She carefully pried the guilt frame from her grandmother’s strong grip. There was a moment’s struggle before the woman relented and allowed her to take the frame. Val held a baited breath as she turned the precious remnant of the woman’s past over and stared at the sepia colored images of long ago.

Old Russia was evident in the photo, a land that didn’t exist any longer. A figure, that Val immediately recognized as her grandmother as a child, stood at the forefront of the faded photograph. Dressed in a short white frock and black calf high boots, typical of the era, Val judged her to be six or seven years of age. Immensely proud, the child was beaming at the photographer.

However, it was not her grandmother’s childish image that caught Val’s attention. There, the moment forever captured in time, was a startling figure. She lifted her puzzled gaze to the elderly woman, her normally inquisitive mind spinning.

“I was six.” Her grandmother managed in a low whisper, brusquely waving an imperious hand at her daughter-in-law, ordering her away. Val’s mother, forever respectful, slipped back into the far recesses of the kitchen. “The Imperial Court was on holiday. Their caravan went through our humble town. Great stallions, proud uniforms, it was a moment of great importance for anyone to see.” She smiled, her faded eyes as faraway as the memories. “My mother, she made me wear my best dress, in case the royal family would stop in the streets. “ She smiled wistfully. “The entire village turned out for the event that day, lining the main road. We all wanted to catch a glimpse of the royal family, not realizing it would be the last time we would ever be privileged to see such again.”

“The revolution?”

“A few months later, the revolution would occur.” Her grandmother conceded with a nod and a grimace. “The handsomest of the court was the youngest baron. Women would swoon when he entered a room, attired in his official uniform. I,” She pressed a forefinger to her chest to emphasize. “Little me, in my best dress, happened to draw his attention. He rode on his great charger to my side. He was so dashing, in his uniform, with his devilish smile. I fell in love with him, at that moment.”

Val smiled tightly. Her grandmother could recall a six year old girl’s fanciful crush upon a member of the royal court. After all of these years, it seemed as if the Baron had made an everlasting impression.

“The baron, he dismounted from his horse. He approached me, smiling, with those strangely colored eyes. He took the simple spray of flowers that I held and he thanked me.”

“The picture?”

“A man in the village wanted the picture for posterity. The baron waited, patiently permitting me a moment in time to remember for the rest of my life.”

Val exhaled a strangled breath as she peered back at the image. Her grandmother’s twisted finger trembled as she touched the glass, trailing over the photograph. She stopped on the image of the man that stood at her youthful side.

“Baron Demetri Ivanovich Sergei Daskova Petronov.” She whispered. “The year is nineteen sixteen.”

Petronov. Val remembered it as the name carved upon the dead man.

Val sat heavily down upon the carpet. She felt shock, awed as she stared into the face of the man. He was, beyond a doubt, the exact image of the individual that had been in their presence. The resemblance was startling.

“He is the great-grandson, Babushka?”

“No, child.” The old woman shook her head disdainfully, her gaze straying to the still filled cup of now cold tea.

“Babushka,” Val began heavily. The old woman turned back toward her with the unmistakable expression of dread written upon her face.

“The Baron Petronov supposedly died unmarried, three weeks before the revolution.” She continued heavily, reverting back to her mother tongue. “He had never taken a wife nor had he sired children.”

“This man,” Val began, a chill washing over her flesh as she looked up into the face of the woman that had regaled her with so many fanciful tales in her childhood.

“Upyr, Valentina.” Her grandmother whispered in deep and ominous tones. “The man, the man that was here,” She pressed her fingers to her heart. “This man is upyr.”

Vampire

“What do you presume I am, Evangeline?”

Again, there was that damnable smirk, although his eyes said otherwise. She wondered if he truly dreaded what he was about to reveal to her.

“Tabloid fodder says, in order to be one of your elite crew members, you either have a pact with the devil or you’re a vampire.” She scoffed at the absurdity of the words even as she uttered them.

“In other words, you believe in the probability that I am of some other creation, besides human? ” He left the question hanging in the air as he took a hesitant step toward her.

She shrugged. “Are you a vampire?”

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound deep and smoky as it filled the room. He seemed purely amused by the assumption and continued to chuckle lightly as he wiped the trace of mirthful tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Ah, my dear, I am not a blood crazed vampire.” He calmed himself and Evangeline felt the heat of color flood her face. Lucien forced himself to continue with marked levity. “You may rest assured that your lovely neck is perfectly safe this night.”

“Do you have a pact with the devil?” The words were pronounced with great effort and Eva felt herself become chilled to the bone.

“No. There isn’t a pact with the devil.”

Eva knew she would have been ignorant to miss the particular stress he had placed on his response.

“Are you one of the undead?”

“I cannot be in league with the undead if I have never experienced the blessing of death.” He supplied the answer so simply, as if he were discussing the events of the weather, although she did catch the faintest sense of remorse and irony that clouded his words.

“D’Angel.”

The pronunciation of the name fell from her numb lips. She realized as she said the word that it did seem to fit him, oddly enough. He did bring to mind the paintings she had seen of angels in her youth, elaborate images that had filled the stained glass windows at the church her parent’s had attended. Those same angels had been pale and glowing, radiating with a serenity that was undefinable. Nevertheless, there was something else. There was some sort of…she was not aware of what, precisely, even though the angelic reference to Lucien D’Angel hit a distinctly sour note.

Angel’s Fire, Demon’s Blood is available at www.Amazon.com and http://wildhorsepress.webs.com