As a workaholic insomniac with an overly active imagination, my journey to writing naughty, twisty paranormal tales began several years ago as a desperate attempt to distract myself from the real-life corporate mergers and impending litigations that were giving me nightmares. It worked! Soon I was sleeping soundly—dreaming about big, oversexed alpha men with superpowers chasing me down rather than thinking about the Napoleon-complex stuffed suits at the office who had been driving me nuts.
Because I continue to write largely for my own amusement and stress relief, my hope is that my stories may help others to escape their worries about weenie bosses, looming deadlines, and whatever else is causing distress in their lives for a few hours as well.
The fact is reading remains one of the safest, healthiest, most economical means of distraction, relaxation, and entertainment available. Hey, throw in a heart-pounding, sexy read and you might just sneak in your cardio workout for the day! (I’m certain there’s a really qualified panel of doctors and “experts” somewhere who will corroborate this for me.)
Along those lines, I am absolutely thrilled to have been given this tremendous opportunity for a Guest Author Post in Ever After Romance, and I hope to do my part to help readers get their heart rates up just a teeny tiny bit by sharing this brief excerpt from my paranormal romance novel, Slip of Fate (Werelock Evolution, Book 1).
Slip of Fate Excerpt:
“Maybe you’re afraid to find out what you might mean to me,” he said, the words delivered with the innocence of a choirboy, spoken as if he was processing them for the first time himself. “Maybe it terrifies you to know that you’ve always belonged with someone like me.”
Or maybe it terrified him. Either way, it was the sincerity in his eyes that stumped me. I had no defense, no good comeback for that. He must have sensed my wavering reticence, my tremulous resolve, because his next play went straight for the kill.
Those hypnotic eyes never left mine as his hands skimmed around my hips and up my sides, traveling gently over my quivering stomach up to my heaving chest. His touch was tender, but oh, so very proprietary! His fingertips traced my collarbone at the leisurely pace of one who has infinite time, dipping between the valley of my breasts and then circling around my slight, fleshy mounds with the confidence of one who holds exclusive privilege.
And as adept hands proceeded to more intimately discover me through the thin barrier of my henley and bra, it served to illustrate two very important, disconcerting facts: My legs really were locked around his waist in a wanton death grip; and I was in way over my head.
“I know it’s all happening fast, and you’re scared, but I’ll be so gentle … so careful,” he pledged. “I won’t hurt you.” His thumb rolled casually over my nipple where it lay crested beneath a layer of cotton. My eyelids grew heavy; my vision blurred as I arched into his hand.
A hint of a smile warmed his eyes. “I promise, my sweet girl.” His lips ghosted mine, searching for a boundary—tempting me to let it down. “No matter how much I want you, I won’t take anything from you you’re not ready to give.”
“That’s it,” he said, nipping my lower lip, “show me what you want. I promise you can have it.” My lips moved hesitantly over his, kissing him back. “So safe … so slow … ”
He was palming both of my breasts in his capable hands, stimulating my nipples in a way that had me aching and seeping desire between my thighs.
“Just want to explore,” he professed ingenuously, before too briefly slipping his tongue in and out of my willing mouth in an inciting kiss, “… play a little.” I moaned and lightly bit his full bottom lip as he’d done mine, silently demanding his tongue again. “Help you find out what you like … show you how good you can feel …”
With another whimper he at last gave me his tongue back. And then some! Thrusting deeply, invading fully, he had me all too quickly teetering on a surprisingly delicate precipice between pleasure and pain—one that went so much further than physical awareness alone.
His tongue overwhelmed mine, staking irrefutable claim to the inner sanctum of my mouth with a quiet dominance that both enslaved and freed me, awakening my senses to a whole new world and a part of myself I wasn’t sure I was prepared to know.
He groaned into my mouth as his tongue stroked my depths in a manner that felt thoroughly indecent—so shockingly naughty, considering it was only a kiss.
Except it wasn’t “only” anything. It was everything. It spoke volumes to how he felt about me. How much he did want me—even if it was a game. And I knew without a doubt that he’d keep hammering away at my meager defenses until that hard girth of his that I was once again shamelessly grinding myself upon was thrusting intensely inside of me, owning my body the way his tongue was presently possessing my mouth.
What alarmed me most of all, though, was how much I wanted it, too. How well I relished the idea of him shredding my jeans from my limbs and pushing everything he had fully inside of me, consuming my most sacred space with all that pent-up, demanding hunger—all that inexorable, infinite need that radiated from him, threatening to devour me.
Hettie Ivers favors stories in which realistic, relatable characters must navigate fantastical, larger-than-life circumstances. She’s a sucker for sexy antiheroes, underdogs, and flawed protagonists, and she enjoys fresh spins on classic tropes with a sprinkling of satire.