I hope you all read that heading like the Pigs in Space opening from The Muppet Show. If you didn’t, go back and read it that way now. Go on. I’ll wait.
Now, having teased coitus in the stars, let me hit you with the details. I have a new release. An erotic sci-fi novella called Deadly Pleasure: Mercy Book Two. It follows on the heels of Highest Bidder: Mercy Book One (who’da thunk it) but can be totally read alone. I love this story. It is, I think, my favourite sci-fi romance. I totally let my brain and muse run riot together while writing this one and the end result is a totally twisted mix of Star Trek, Doctor Who, Cherry 2000 and weird stuff only one can only find in my head. It’s really really erotic, a tad violent and, I’m perversely proud to say, made my editor cry.
No one on Spaceport Mercy knows who Corvan Jareth really is. Everything about the bouncer at The Steam, the port’s most popular bar, is shrouded in mystery. The only certainty—don’t piss him off if you value your limbs. And definitely don’t mess with Emylie, his equally mysterious companion, if you value your life. That’s all anyone knows, and that’s the way Corvan likes it.
So who’s the woman in skintight red leather who suddenly appears on Port Mercy? The one with the massive partner known only as Forty-Two? The one asking questions about the secretive bouncer? And why do her eyes burn with familiar hunger when she finally finds him?
Corvan Jareth’s dark past is about to catch up with him. And it couldn’t be more dangerous. Or erotic.
Publisher’s Note: This book was previously published elsewhere under the title Hidden Phase, but has been extensively revised for EC.
EXCERPT (A Very Naughty One)
Sector Seven A, Fourth Quadrant, Secular System
His tongue stabbed into her pussy, its slightly rough surface playing over the throbbing knot of her clit. There was nothing gentle about the wickedly abrasive penetration and she didn’t want it any other way. Strong, hard fingers gripped her hips, held her both to the firm sleeping pallet and a mouth in the process of launching her to sexual rapture.
Falynn Mavek, premier Unit Zero Agent, gazed blindly at the ceiling of her quarters, the bone-stroking vibrations of her ship’s hyper-drive engines magnifying the waves of exquisite pleasure rolling through her body. Every nerve ending thrummed with the building energy of her rapidly approaching orgasm. An orgasm promising to be the first of many. When it came to climaxes, Forty-Two always delivered.
Her clit was a swollen button of sensitive flesh, the conduit for every jolt of wet heat the tip of his tongue seared into her core. Falynn bit down on her lip, the sharp self-inflicted pain an automatic ploy to derail the moans clawing at her throat. No matter how good it was—and sex with Forty-Two was always very, very good—she never made a sound during sex.
It wasn’t the years of brutal training under the aegis of the Unit’s most notorious master agent that had her muzzling her pleasure. She never relinquished control of her emotions. Not anymore.
Perhaps because the last time she’d expressed her pleasure during sex, her lover had walked away and never came back.
Everyone said Thanatos was dead, but she didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it. How could he be? He was too good. Too fast. Over and over she’d seen him defy the laws of time and physics. He was unbeatable. Untouchable.
Except by her. That once.
Damn him to all the hells, he’d probably gotten the Itillian Slap he’d wanted from some other female. If so, she hoped he really was dead. She hoped he’d died thirsty.
The tongue in her cunt stopped its delicious, orgasm-inducing action and the fingers curled harder into her hips. “Stop thinking.” Forty-Two’s deep voice rumbled with potent power and undeniable command.
“How do you know I’m thinking?” she ground out, teeth clenched, pulse quick in her neck.
He chuckled against her pussy, the rumble vibrating into her core and making her breath catch. “You know how.”
He thrust his tongue deeper, past her folds, and she bit her lip again. Each time Forty-Two claimed her body, he did everything in his power to break her silence. It had become a personal challenge. She didn’t mind. It burned away the emptiness of her existence. It torched the ache in her chest where her wounded heart thumped. It made him do things to her she’d never let any living soul do before. Not even—
She cut the painful thought dead, focusing instead on the feel of Forty-Two’s tongue and now—Kiirs give her strength—finger in her cunt. No. Make that two fingers. Each long digit squirmed and wriggled inside her, seeking the sweet spot within as his tongue retreated to roll again and against over her throbbing clit. She shoved her hips higher, forcing her sex harder to his mouth, letting the exquisite fire licking through her body consume her. Almost.
She would never relinquish control completely. Not again. Once was enough.
“Stop thinking and let me make you forget.”
Forty-Two’s growl sent a shiver up Falynn’s spine and her nipples pinched tight. She looked down her body into his eyes, unable to miss the furious light burning in their blue depths. His desire blazed like an inferno there, and in those flames she saw a determination and hunger so powerful, her throat squeezed shut. Kirs. If only…
She balled her fists, killing the futile wish as ruthlessly as she killed her targets. He may be the only one even close to making her scream again, but he could never destroy her pain.
She pumped her hips, needing him to scour away the old hurt building in her heart. She needed to come. She needed to feel something apart from nothing. “Get out of my head and finish the job.”
“Don’t call me sir.”
“Don’t call me that either.”
Forty-Two chuckled again, the sound both bitter and warm, before—thank Kiirs—he returned his very talented mouth to her sex. He sucked at her clit, nibbled and nipped with his teeth. She bucked, choking back a gasp. He dug his fingers into her flesh and jerked her butt off the mattress, stabbing her anus with his tongue. Her back arched under the overwhelming sensations, forcing shoulders and feet against the sleeping pallet as her fisted hands scrabbled for a hold in the bunched sheets.