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My first ever free short story is out -- in an anthology with a group of authors called the ERAuthors (Erotic Romance Authors) and it's available at All Romance Ebooks. So go grab your copy and review it if you liked it enough. This is the link HERE
This anthology has my short story, "Rusted Rattlesnakes and Lubricated Love."
It's the teaser first few chapters for the first book in my new PNR post-apocalyptic series called "Cataclysm Blues - Awakening" -- due out in the last quarter, this year.
When the end of the world has come and gone, and demons arise from the ashes of Hell, small-town sheriff Rose finds it’s good having a boyfriend to watch her back. Especially when he’s not only sexy but armed, dangerous, and a little bit demon. Even better when you’re part demon too.
Rusted Rattlesnakes and Lubricated Love - Excerpt
First off. Just so you know - this is Talon:
No name still. But, he was kinda pretty. All in black—shirt, trousers, belt, weapons—like someone trying to look tough. Didn’t impress her. What did was the swell of his biceps when he raised the bottle. His profile was…she shifted in her chair…damn good too. Short curly black hair, a roman nose, big mouth…but an alcoholic?
Can’t have it all in one package. That would spoil it. This way he was big and bad and kissable and broken. If it wasn’t for the row of shrapnel scars marching up his neck, she’d…
Talon had made it to where his motorcycle was parked next to the man-high brick fence. Even in the poor lights out there, the vehicle gleamed some dark color—black most likely, knowing him.
As she strolled forward, he turned, spun even—and there was no wobbliness at all. Rose frowned and took the last yard fast, drew her S&W revolver left-handed, and slammed her hand up onto his throat. She lifted him six inches off the ground with most of the weight under his jaw so he could breathe. The pistol went under his ribs.
“Okay, you cunning bastard, I can see you’re not drunk. No idea how, but when I let you down, you’re facing your cycle and showing me both wrists. Got it?”
“You do realize, you should not be able to lift me.”
“Huh?” The calmly said sentence was so out of place.
“No woman can lift this much one-handed.”
“Surprise, surprise. I can. It’s the croquet, and all the oatmeal.” Why wasn’t he sounding half-strangled?
“I am not going to hurt you. I don’t like guns pointed at me.”
Hurt me? As if. “At you? It’s only your ri—”
The move was fast and unexpected. She couldn’t counter it and barely knew what he’d done after it was over. Her pistol was gone, she’d been shoved into the brick wall hard enough to sting her back, and Talon held both her hands above her head. They were both breathing hard.
“Don’t scream. I’ll let you go. I just wanted you out here to talk, like I said.”
She blinked. How had he done that? No one, ever, bested her.
“You’re a freak.” She wriggled her wrists but all that did was chafe her skin on the brick.
Could kick him. As if he’d read her mind, he crowded her—his body pressing close. Groin to groin, his chest to her breasts, and his mouth inches away from hers. And there it was—thatkerthump sinking feeling again. The temperature between her legs went up several degrees, and wet…she was much wetter down there.
“Freak? Am I?” She heard that dead smile in his words again. “What about you?”
“Me? I’m the sheriff.” He still held her. “The letting go bit? Remember? My deputy is coming.”
“Not yet he isn’t. I can’t hear him.” The pause stretched to the breaking point. “You’ve been stupid, Sheriff.”
Yeah, she guessed she had. She’d thought she could take him. Killing someone took seconds, if you knew how. Looking into Talon’s night-darkened eyes only reinforced her gut instinct—this man could kill. But he hadn’t. And now, though she could try screaming, that meant sucking in a heap of air, and he’d know.
On the flip side… “If you’d wanted to kill me, you’d have done it by now.”
“True.” So close, she felt the waft of warm air from his mouth as he spoke. She smelled him every time she inhaled—man and scotch, with a hint of gasoline.
As if he read her mind, he leaned in and put his nose to her neck where it was bared by her collar. His warm skin on hers. The fine bristles on his chin rasped at her. She tensed.
Why am I not protesting? I’m not some floozy. No? Then why haven’t I screamed for Deputy Yale? And sod it, that man is slow.
“Kill you? You smell too good, beautiful. I think I have other plans.”
Beautiful? Other plans? She stopped breathing. No one called her that. Especially not a six foot plus hunk of man who could, for once, eat her all up without half trying. His thigh moved in, denim to denim, pressing upward to where her clit resided. God damn, that’s…
The wall seemed to slide a half inch upward, because her knees had caved. She’d melted—bone, muscle, everything. The only thing stopping her slide was his knee between her legs, and her arms fastened above.
Around her wrists his grip rhythmically relaxed then tightened as if he was thinking. She thought about swallowing again, but that would be a dead giveaway to her arousal.
“You’ve never been kissed, have you, Rose?”
“Of course I have.” The huskiness in her voice bothered her. He’d know. Got to get back on the job. Get out of this hold for starters.
“No. You’ve never had a man kiss you, though you might have kissed them. There’s a difference. I doubt anyone else could handle you. I can.”
Stunned, she gaped at him.
Above, he put her hands together and held them in one fist. She pushed outward but still couldn’t budge him. Her next deep breath pressed her breasts into his chest. And he put his hand to her neck—without asking, like it belonged there. Like he had the right to do whatever he wished. The sensation tripped her into another land. Here was a man unafraid to do what he wanted with her.
Thumb on one side of her neck, fingers on the other, holding her there too, he spoke. “Done trying to escape?”
She simply breathed, watched, like waiting for an avalanche. Then ever so slowly, without fuss, he came in for a kiss.
Her brain kicked in. “My deputy—”
His mouth covered hers.
Warmth flooded through her. Slowly she closed her eyes, as he assaulted her mouth and claimed her. Fastened to the wall by his hands and body, she had no choice, for he leaned in harder and almost nailed her in place. His kisses, the subtle thrust of his thigh up into her pussy, the constant grasp on her throat and the way he let her have absolutely no way to move her hands, it all built into a storm that rumbled through her.
The kisses grew rougher, he nipped at her mouth, and pushed her head to the side so he could bite and suck at her throat.
Soon her moans and the sound of his lips and teeth and tongue on her were all she could hear. She writhed against his thigh, and his hand stroked where her shirt had ridden up above her navel.
He leaned his head onto her neck so her head was forced to the side. Above her own ragged breaths, she heard his quiet words.
“So soft. This is you. Not these.” He tapped her pistol, then his hand wormed down deeper between the top of her low-riding jeans and her skin. Too tight, he only got one finger down close…a small distance from her little throbbing clit. Oh, she could tell to a fraction of an inch how far that finger needed to go.
You can also get it on Smashwords.
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Copyright Cari Silverwood 2011. All rights reserved. No part of these publications may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the author.
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Cari Silverwood is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of kinky darkness or sometimes of dark kinkiness, depending on her moods and the amount of time she's spent staring into the night.
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