Happy Wednesday, and thanks again to the lovely Angelica Dawson for organizing the MidWeekTeases 🙂
This week’s tease comes from my first erotic M/F/M/M romance, HIGH-RISK FEVER.
All muscles rigid with tension, she headed to the dark room the doctor had come out of, and peeked inside. The hall light revealed the contours of Mica’s body curled on a single-person bed. Despite the trembling of the window shutters, his torso heaved peacefully, as if he was unaware of the raging storm.
She stepped into the small room, took off her shoes, and on feet as light as cat paws, went to the other side of the bed. There wasn’t much space for two, but, overcome with exhaustion, she didn’t want to think about what their closeness might engender. She lay on top of the sheets with her back to him, though not so near their bodies touched.
Waiting for sleep to take over, she listened to his breathing and the furious gusts of wind outside.
She deplored not being able to notify Brian. Hopefully he would understand why she didn’t make it home tonight. She prayed he wouldn’t ask too many questions. At least she could tell him about the baby, and how she’d been allowed to take care of it.
She already missed holding that little bundle. Her chest constricted. Tears rushed again, so fast, so easily. She closed her eyes and barely held back a gasp.
She wanted to forget about this whole thing—Brian, the bicyclists, the storm, the baby, the…. It was too much. She didn’t know how to handle anything anymore. She was losing it, didn’t know who she was, or what she wanted, or the purpose of her life.
The mattress moved. Mica’s warm body snuggled against hers, molding to her back.
She froze, stopped breathing.
“Why you crying?” His warm breath brushed her neck. A hand sneaked between her arm and chest, wound around her stomach, and pressed them closer together. Long fingers moved to her lower stomach, spreading on the shirt.
A rush of lust charged through her like a bolt of lightning, merciless, searing, and all-consuming. She stiffened and held back a whimper. At the same time, his hoarse voice sent strange shivers down her spine, making her ache for something else. Warmth, perhaps. Comfort, reassurance.
He asked why she was crying. Was he to be considered a friend, someone in whom she could confide?
She wanted to turn around and touch him, smell his scent, taste his skin, dive into him as if he were liquid, and become one with him.
Sizzling with need, stiff and numbed by excitement, she rolled onto her back, eyes wide but barely noting details in the dimly lit bedroom’s ceiling. His hand slid to the other side of her waist, leaving his forearm to rest heavily on her tummy. She couldn’t help arching up as her pussy muscles contracted with desire. His warm, regular breaths brushed her ear, their calmness urging her on.
Again, she rolled, as if programmed to, until their knees and chests collided and her hand found his shoulder, nails digging into the woolly fabric of his pullover.
Light from the hall behind him caressed the silhouette of his temple and cheeks, but rendered the rest of his face invisible in the shadow. Only his eyes glimmered from the low light that sneaked into the room. Soft breaths from his nostrils mingled with her own erratic, needy breathing.
While his arm slid farther around her waist, fingers pressing the small of her back—bringing them even closer, if that were possible—she brought her nose to his and sought his lips. It seemed the most natural and obvious thing, something they’d postponed for days.
He moved back with a faint chuckle. “No, don’t. I’m contagious.”
Her cheeks heated. In a moment of extreme fatigue and frustration, she had interpreted his closeness as an invitation. But he was ill, so ill they’d driven for help in the middle of the night, and the doctor deemed it necessary to give him medicine. How had she forgotten?
She was so tired and confused. Searing humiliation mixed with exhaustion. She bit her lip and closed her eyes while burning tears pressed behind her lids. She removed her hand and let it slide down between their stomachs, resting her palm on the mattress, creating distance.
His hand left her waist, and in the next moment, moved up to her face. Gentle fingers caressed her cheeks and forehead, brushing her trembling lips, wiping her wet eyes with unexpected tenderness. “Shhh.”
Filling with warmth, she turned to bury her face in the soft pillow and swallowed a painful gasp. Her tears soaked the fabric. The sheets smelled of apple, like those of her bed at home. She briefly thought of Brian, but pushed his image out of her mind.
Mica moved up on the mattress until his chin rested on top of her head, beard stubble grazing her scalp, and snuck his hand to her back, pressing her chest closer to his stomach. “Sleep, bella. I’m here in the morning, too, you know.”
Copyright (c) 2014 Lea Bronsen
Two young and indecently handsome bicyclists visit a village in the French Alps during the summer holidays. Forced by a raging storm to spend the night at the local bed & breakfast, they invade the quiet lives of hostess Anne and her husband, Brian.
A power outage plunges the foursome into darkness, encouraging new liaisons to form, life-long secrets to be unveiled, and steamy lessons to be learned. But once the storm moves on, can the four find a balance and resume their normal lives?
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