Welcome to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked for a new year of Mid Week Tease hosted by Sandra Bunino.
Authors: this is a great opportunity to spotlight a few lines or even a paragraph or two from a new release or backlisted title. Readers: you get to sample some delicious snippets! We’ll do our best to tease, titillate and tantalize you into the weekend.
I'm working on a new paranormal romantic suspense set in Las Vegas, entitled The Bone Flute. In this unedited snippet, Jozsef Kiraly is the ghost cursed into the bone flute, which used to be his left leg. Creepy, yes? Just check out what happens when a "magic user" examines the flute.
Jozsef awakened from wherever he went between these encounters to the erotic feeling of someone running their fingertips over his leg. Even before he’d fully materialized, he realized the hands belonged to someone feminine and old enough to know what she was doing.
Magical energy crackled and pulsed around him, seductively pulling him into the world. Pleasure built within him as the hands slid over his inner thigh then up to his hip, grazing the sides of his scrotum. Arousal shivered through him, hardening his cock into a pillar of stone between his legs.
Holy God, who is this woman?
He couldn’t even see her yet, but that was no fault of the magic. His eyes were closed as he savored every erotic touch and caress. He groaned and shifted, but the hands didn’t let go or stop.
Pleasure wrapped around him, building his arousal higher and higher until he couldn’t stop the orgasm cascading through him. Bright lights filled his vision behind his closed lids and overwhelming bliss consumed him, shooting him amongst the stars.
As he slowly spiraled down from the heavens, he reflected he’d never experienced a better orgasm, even at the hands of another magic practitioner, and he opened his eyes.
The sight that met his vision left a lot to be desired.
Everything was gray. Gray carpet, gray chair, gray desk, gray walls on three sides making some sort of kiosk. The only brightly colored object appeared to be a moving picture on the desk framed in black with a strange flat black board holding what appeared to be white letters on little scales set before it. A nondescript black lump with geometric groves in its top end sat beside the board on a square pad with the picture of the nighttime heavens on it.
Papers, some in stacks and some spread all over in an incomprehensible jumble, covered the surface of the desk. The box containing his femur flute sat on top of some handwritten notes, but the woman who’d been touching him had disappeared.
By all the saints, where am I now?
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