Your own erotic adventure: part 2

Warning: Explicit content. Last week you were in a bar, drinking tequila with a rock star. Now you've chosen to go back to his hotel room.

Attention: The material on this page contains content of an explicit nature and is not suitable for anyone under 18. If you're sensitive to this kind of content, then do turn away now

Last week we played a fun game and featured an extract from A Girl Walks into A Bar, the sexy and steamy new novel written by South African author, Helena S. Paige (Helen Moffett, Sarah Lotz and Paige Nick respectively).

For those who aren't in the know, and who may have missed out on the first instalment (we'd advise you to read this first), the novel is structured and formatted in such a way that it gives readers the option to choose how they'd like the novel to proceed.

Now we promised you that we'd publish the next scenario based on the option which got the most votes in last week, and wouldn't you know - the majority of you all selected to go back to the hotel with the rock star (We so don't blame you - our vote on this was pretty unanimous).

So, without much more waffling from my side... here's the extract as promised.

(Get yourselves a fan ladies, it's about to get hot in here)

You’ve chosen to go back to the rock star’s hotel

You’re kneeling on the floor on a shag rug in front of a massive rock-star-type fireplace. It’s a cliché, but it’s a delicious cliché. Only a rock star would stay in a suite like this one. It covers one entire floor of the hotel, and boasts every imaginable luxury.

There is music pumping at just the right level from invisible speakers that must be housed in the ceiling as well as the walls. The track is something you don’t recognise, with a deep, smooth bass.

Charlie is kneeling in front of you. He lifts your dress up over your head in one smooth movement, before you’re even fully aware of what he’s done. Then he gently pushes you back on to the shag rug, which feels soft and plush on your naked back.

‘Lie still,’ he orders, ‘this won’t hurt a bit.’

His voice is husky, and you shiver as he drips tequila into your belly button. ‘Now, where oh where shall I put the salt?’ he teases, trailing his fingers down from your belly button to the edge of the purple lacy g-string.

‘First rule of body shots,’ he says, snapping his fingers back just as you’re starting to enjoy them, ‘no hands!’ Then he bends his head down and pulls the edge of your bra down gently with his teeth – it grazes past your nipple as he pulls the lace away.

You suck in a breath at the roughness of his teeth, your nipple so hard and sensitive you want to wriggle, but you can’t because of the tequila pooled in your navel.

Once he’s tugged your bra away from your right breast, he sticks out his tongue and glides it in a generous lap across your taut nipple. Then he reaches for a wedge of sliced orange, holding it out for you to take in your mouth.

He blows gently on your breast where he’s just licked, making your nipple even harder, the cool breath giving you goosebumps all over your burning body; then he pours a line of salt across the nipple, which is aching for his attention again.

Finally, just as you can barely stand not to be touched for another second, he leans in and licks the salt off your breast quickly – too quickly for your liking, you’d prefer him to stay there for quite a while longer – then drops his head down to your belly button; you can’t help arching your back as he sucks the tequila out of your navel, his tongue dipping into it, twirling around the edges.

Then, before your body knows what’s hit it, he’s straddling the length of you on all fours, his arms on the floor on either side of your head, and he drops his mouth on to yours, hungrily devouring the orange, and you don’t know what happens to it or the rind, but it’s gone in seconds, and then he’s kissing you, and you can feel his cock hard through his jeans against your panties, which are entirely soaked through.

You kiss frantically, furiously, your tongues entwining, full of the taste of salt and tequila. You push your hips up against his crotch, desperate for the relief of some friction.

And then you wrap your naked legs around him, pushing against the hardness in his jeans. Enough of all these clothes – you really want to feel his skin against yours, so you roll him over on to his back and straddle him.

To read more... visit Kalahari.com to purchase a copy of A Girl Walks into a Bar.

This extract was published with permission from Jonathan Ball publishers.

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Goodbye, dear Sue Townsend

2014-04-14 14:57
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