GOTHIC HEAT by Portia Da Costa
Ten years ago, I wrote a paranormal erotic romance called Gothic Blue. It did quite well and a lot of people said that they really, really liked it... and one or two said they'd love to read a sequel. At the time, I felt that I'd wrapped up the story pretty well, and I couldn't quite see how I could return to the setting and the characters, so I moved on and wrote other books and forgot about the sequel notion altogether...
Then, last year, when our Black Lace editor was urging us to give him some paranormal ideas, I very whimsically suggested that it might be fun to do a Gothic Blue sequel, not really sure he'd take me seriously, mainly because I wasn't all that serious about it myself... but lo and behold, shortly after, there were contracts and delivery dates and whatnot, and I was committed to it!
Luckily, there were a few loose ends in Gothic Blue, and one of them was a character called Paula. She had a serious brush with the evil sorceress Isidora Katori, that turned out to have pretty far reaching consequences... and Gothic Heat became the story of those consequences.
In the clip below, Paula is visiting her new friend and lover Rafe at the therapy centre where he works. But unbeknownst to Rafe, Paula has a little problem that she's not yet had chance to tell him about... the possessing spirit of the wicked seductress, Isidora.
Rafe gripped the oil bottle tightly, fighting for breath. He experienced a disorientating sense of doubling that made him giddy, and for a second, he seemed to see two women on the couch. It was like a drug trip, as if someone had loaded his massage oil with peyote and he’d absorbed it through his skin. Paula’s dark hair looked silkier, longer and lusher; and her eyes were slanted and imperious, assessing him as if he were sexual meat for her delectation. Her body was simply sublime, full of breast and sumptuous of hip. Her serviceable black knickers were gone, discarded on the floor to reveal the perfect, fragrant triangle of her bush. She held out her hand to him like a queen, and he walked towards her.
‘Mmmm…’ Taking the bottle of oil from him, she pulled the stopper and sniffed deeply, smiling to herself. Then, in a sudden violent gesture, she hurled the thing across the room, laughing as the oil arced from it, flying like a pale yellow ribbon. ‘A pretty scent,’ She adjusted herself on the table, slithering around until she was perched on the edge, ‘but artificial, my Rafe, too artificial.’ Parting her legs, she offered him something that was both natural and beyond nature instead.
Rafe gasped, dragging in both oxygen and the odour of Paula’s genitals. The room was filled with lavender, but it seemed to come from a distance, and through a filter. Only the essence of woman had real truth, and real meaning.
Staggering slightly, he fell to his knees and pressed his face between her thighs, aware of great well of tightly focused heat, emanating not from her sex but the white curve of her belly. He tried to lift his head and search for a visible mark or glow, and for a moment he imagined he saw a slight, raised pattern on her skin. But before he could get a closer look she pressed down hard on the top of his head, forcing him to pleasure her.
She was hot, fragrant, and intoxicatingly delicious. A million impressions crowded his senses, both ordinary and unusual. The taste of Paula was like power itself, infinitely greater than his own puny gifts. Supping at her earthy juices, his mind seemed to expand and a rainbow of twenty thousand colours exploded in his head.
‘Yes! Yes! That’s marvellous. More of that!’ she goaded him as he flicked his tongue over her. Swift, deft hands dug into his scalp, cramming his face against the juncture of her thighs. Rafe felt as if he were drowning, drowning so fast and hard that he’d probably expire just at the moment of her extreme pleasure. His cock was a rod of agony that seemed to belong to another man.
Harder and harder he licked, covering every bit of her sex, licking her clit and her lips, and sipping at her entrance. She writhed against him, sultry and serpentine, groaning and shouting, praising him with a string of lurid profanities, language even fouler and more extreme than even he’d ever comfortably used himself. Her heels bashed against his back and his entire head felt as if it were on fire. His eyes were shut but somehow he seemed to see a burning, setting sun, searing his vision and extinguishing his self control.
When he sucked hard on her clit, she howled like a banshee. But instead of falling back and surrendering herself to orgasm and pleasure, she surged off the massage bench and knocked him backwards, so he sprawled on the wooden floor and slid in the spilt oil. As he lay there with the wind knocked out of him, dimly away of shards of glass digging into his shoulders and back, she climbed astride him, and knelt over his pelvis, her dark triangle hovering tauntingly over his loins.
‘So, sex-god, do you have a condom in you pocket?’ she jeered. Then without waiting for an answer, she inclined over him, feeling around and under him into the pocket of his yoga pants. Her fingers felt hot through the thin cloth, and with deadly accuracy, they secured and prised out the contraceptive he’d might have used if he’d been able to bring himself to fuck Barbara Butcher what seemed like a century ago.
In a swift sharp yank that had him bouncing and swinging up to slap his belly, she dragged down his trousers and handling him ruthlessly, she rolled the latex jacket onto him.
Then with no further ado, she sat down hard, taking every bit of him into her with one voracious lunge.
It was like plunging into the heart of a black star, burning hot, yet at the same time utterly dark. He’d never felt anything quite like it, not even with this same woman, last night in the alley.
GOTHIC HEAT is published on the 3rd April in the UK and on the 27th May in the US and is available from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk
Portia Da Costa
Fourteen long years at the Black Lace coal face
PS. Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Gothic Heat.