they would love us to write a story together.
heads down, fuelled by wine, chocolate, and Gin&Tonics, and our fingers flew.
Follow your heart and cross space and time…
When Clara lands the job as curator of Faversham House it’s a dream come true. Especially when her favorite Regency Erotica writer Vicky Hopewell shadows her in the run up to the annual estate ball—a tradition left over from Regency times.
The costume ball is always the highlight of the year, but neither woman expects to be confronted by two drop dead gorgeous Dukes.
Daniel Danvers, the Duke of Hockwell thinks Clara is one of the servants invited to the estate ball.
Kit Capel, the Duke of Aulban cannot understand why his wife Victoria acts as though she doesn’t know him.
As both couples slowly come to terms with the reality of their situations, can they find happiness? Is it as simple as following your heart?
Daniel paused mid swatting the delectable arse in front of him to rub, what must be a considerable ache by now, away. His quarry had stopped screaming for this Vicky, at last, and unless his senses were completely off, she was starting to enjoy his attention. Certainly her breaths were coming in short gasps, and instead of struggling, she was raising her bottom into every carefully placed swat of his hand.
The evening was definitely looking up. As was his cock, which was in danger of splitting his evening breeches.
There was one way to find out for sure. Daniel slipped his fingers under the hideous undergarments, and smirked at the all over body shiver his girl gave. Satisfied with not only her reaction but also by the wet, hair-free cunt he found, he let his digits linger.
Her breathless moan spurred him on, and he grinned when he found her hidden pearl. She shivered again when he circled the tight nub, and Daniel set up lazy circles, designed to drive any woman wild. This chit proved no exception. The air grew heavy with the musk of aroused woman, and Daniel inhaled deeply, before he stopped the movement.
A strangled groan escaped his girl, and he tapped her arse again, when she tried to rub her cunt on his fingers.
“Oh, no, you don’t. I want the truth, starting with your name, and maybe then I’ll let you find release. Only on my say so, though, are we clear here, girl?”
“Fuck, yes … ow.”
Her arse cheeks wobbled most satisfactorily, when he yanked that odd fabric down to her knees, and delivered a few more swats to her delectable arse. The woman had a derriere made for fucking, hips to grab onto while he sunk his cock into her body and claimed what was his. That thought made his head come up. His? He had no business having proprietary thoughts toward a servant like that.
“Fuck, we most certainly will, but not without you telling me who you are, so…” He delivered another open handed swat across both of her arse cheeks this time, and her answering deep throated moan made him go so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t spilled in his breeches yet.
“Clara, Sir. My name is Clara.”
Daniel slid his fingers through her sodden slit, and flicked her nub once, causing her to give another one of those cock hardening moans.
“Very nice, but the correct address would be my lord, chit, would it not?”
A strangled groan was his response this time, and when he withdrew his fingers again, she slumped.
“Sorry, My Lord.”
The girl, Clara, he mentally amended, had fire, that was for sure, if the intonation she gave his title was anything to go by. A certain amount of boldness was something Daniel certainly appreciated in his bed partners. If Clara was a lady’s maid, she was wasted in that position. As his mistress, however… His mood improved dramatically as that thought took hold.
It was Christmas, time to be charitable and all that went with such bounty, and what could be better than elevating this lovely creature from her status of mere servant to his mistress.
Mind thus made up, it was time to taste her nectar and to see if what he was suspecting would be true. That Clara and he would mesh perfectly in the bedroom, and he could let his darker desires shine through.
He indulged himself by sliding several digits through her wet cunt, lubricating them with her juices, before he slipped one finger into her tight channel, and brought his thumb to press against the puckered hole, guarding that entrance.
Clara stiffened slightly, but she didn’t voice any protest, and when he started to thrust the finger in her cunt slowly in and out of her, she gasped. Her hips rose in involuntary jerks, which told him how close she already was to exploding under his ministrations. Her untutored responses made him want to hurry this along, but Daniel was never an inconsiderate lover. He would give her several releases before he claimed his own.
“Good girl, and who do you work for?”
Clara moaned and writhed against him, her internal muscles fluttering around his fingers in rippling moves, which signaled her impending orgasm as clearly as the rosy flush spreading across her skin. So beautifully responsive. She jerked when he tapped her nub, and then withdrew his hand.
“Faversham Estate. Oh god, please, My Lord … I.” The rest of her pretty little plea was lost in a screech as he swung her off his lap and onto his bed. Her breasts bounced most satisfactorily, and her lovely almond shaped green eyes widened further when he crawled onto the bed with her, and straddled her midriff. Daniel grasped her arms and brought them high above her head. The action made her breasts rise up in silent offering, and Daniel smirked.
“Hmm, that would mean you work for me. How delightful. Whatever position you hold here, I much prefer you in this one, unable to move and at my mercy. I’m going to tie your wrists together and tether you to one of the posts, sweet Clara. Is that acceptable to you?”
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the last twenty-five years, she lives with her husband and their brood of nine
in a far too small house filled with love, laughter, and chaos.
Scotland, along with her husband—their children having flown the
nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in
sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to
say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
reading, she appreciates the history inside a book, and the chance to peek into
the lives of those from years ago. Raven admits that she enjoys the research
for her books almost as much as the writing; so much so, that sometimes she
realizes she’s strayed way past the information she needs to know, and not a
paragraph has been added to her WIP.
no domestic goddess, and wonders why tourists think she might run the local bed
and breakfast. She doesn’t.
long-suffering husband is learning to love the dust bunnies, work the Aga, and
be on stand-by with a glass of wine.
in these places