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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

Happy reading!

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.

Blue Boys/Public Service Winner!!!

The winner of the Blue Boys/Public Service draw is....

TAWNY TAYLOR!

Please get in touch with me at portiadacosta 'at' gmail dot com, Tawny, and I'll arrange to send you your spiffing prize of a copy of Gothic Blue and a copy of Sex in Public...

Commiserations to the losers, but there's still time to enter my Suite Seventeen draw... :)

Love

WendyPortia
aka Portia Da Costa
Superannuated Black Lace Pioneer

Blue Boys and a Public Service Announcement

Inspired by Madelynne's super sexy post from Dark Designs, it occurred to me that I'd got a hot boy on boy scene in my latest release, the reprinted GOTHIC BLUE... So after a quick skim through it, I found this intense encounter between the mysterious and powerful Count André Von Kastel, and Jonathan, the rather confused boyfriend of the heroine, Belinda. While Belinda is out in the garden, up to heaven knows what with Japanese beauty Michiko, Jonathan finds himself alone with the seductive Count... and at his mercy.

Now read on...

‘The idea of Belinda with another woman is new to you, is it not?’ the Count continued, ‘And puzzling... You wonder why you do not feel more jealous.’

‘I... I’m not sure what I...’ Jonathan faltered, swirling his glass then lifting it to his lips, trying desperately to analyse his feelings. About Belinda. About Michiko. About all the strange revelations... About the man with whom he was sitting and drinking. The man who suddenly seemed far closer than he had a moment ago. So close that their thighs were almost touching. So close that he could see the toned shape of the musculature beneath André’s tight, faded denims... and the size of the firm bulge at his crotch.

With brandy in his mouth, Jonathan spluttered furiously and felt himself choke and start to cough, his face turning a bright, blushing red. Eyes watering, chest heaving, he felt his brandy glass removed deftly from his hand, and the impact of a solid, well-placed thump against his back. He coughed again, gratefully this time, and suddenly found he could breathe deeply and evenly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, wiping his bleary eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. ‘Maybe I’ve had too much to drink.’

‘Perhaps you have not yet had enough?’ countered André, and Jonathan felt the hand that had struck him stroke his back.

The caress was so light and innocuous it was almost illusory, but coming after the realisation of a moment ago, it made Jonathan start to shake and blush again.

‘Here, but drink slowly this time.’ André held out the refilled brandy glass, ‘Sip by sip.’

When Jonathan took hold of the fat, rounded glass, he was alarmed to feel André’s hand curve around his, lifting the drink to his mouth. The Count’s skin was extraordinarily cool, yet its very coldness was exotic and exciting, and sent a thrill through Jonathan’s shocked body.

I can’t be feeling this! thought Jonathan helplessly, feeling it anyway. He’s two hundred years old... I don’t know him... Dear God in heaven, he’s a man! He’s a man!

‘Sip,’ André urged again, his free hand returning to Jonathan’s burning back.

Jonathan sipped. Far faster than was wise, but he was desperate for some kind of anaesthesia. He was experiencing something he had never felt before. Never in his wildest dreams or darkest nightmares expected to feel, and the worst part was that it was ravishingly delicious. The brandy seemed to be having no effect on him whatsoever, but as he was allowed to take a breath, André’s cologne made his head whirl. It was the smell of roses, and a sharp visceral musk.

‘Think of Belinda and Michiko,’ whispered the Count in his ear, ‘Imagine them together.’ That long cool hand was still on his back, moving a little, rubbing him through the cotton of his shirt, ‘How does that make you feel?’

‘I don’t know!’ cried Jonathan, horrified by the strange sound of his own voice. Its shrillness... Its girlishness...

‘Does the idea of same-sex love repel you?’ André’s voice was deep now, very masculine and cajoling. ‘Surely not...’ The final two words were not a question, but an observation - and not one about Belinda and Michiko.

I’m being seduced, thought Jonathan. Just as Belinda was, here on this couch. And for all her single mindedness and all her steadfast resistance of any kind of exploitation, she succumbed to this man within moments of meeting him.

‘Jonathan?’ prompted André gently, his hand still now, and so chilling through Jonathan’s lightweight shirt.

‘I don’t know,’ repeated Jonathan, feeling all broken apart, but somehow strangely resigned. He looked up, staring into the middle distance, intensely aware of the alluring figure beside him, yet knowing it was he, himself, who had the choice.

‘Look! Get it over with, if you’re going to,’ he said suddenly, unable to cope with the growing tension any more. If André made a move, and it was thoroughly repellent, well, at least he would know. He would know, and he could leap up and flee the room as fast as his feet would carry him. And if it wasn’t? He couldn’t know until the moment.

‘It is your choice,’ said André quietly, as if he had viewed the brief debate in Jonathan’s mind. Maybe he had?

Jonathan turned his face, and found his lips just inches from his companion’s. He could smell the brandied sweetness of André’s breath and almost drown in the aquamarine pools of his eyes.

He’s so beautiful, thought Jonathan. He attracts me. I want him. But my body doesn’t quite know how I want him... He shuddered, filled with thoughts and fears of buggery. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said, his voice extraordinarily small.

‘Do not worry,’ said André, reaching up and undoing the thong that tied his striated locks back, ‘I know everything we need to know.’

Jonathan bit his lip to restrain a gasp, a sigh. André’s hair was soft, thick, and shiny despite its peculiar coloration. Jonathan felt a strong urge to bury his hands in it.

‘Go ahead, do it,’ urged André.

His breathing shallow, his heart racing, Jonathan put up his hands and slid them up through André’s silky tresses until he was cradling the other man’s head. He watched André’s lips part, almost in ecstasy, revealing the soft rosy interior of his mouth. Without thinking, Jonathan lunged forward and kissed him.

It’s just like kissing a woman, he thought, feeling André’s strong, slender arms come around him. The sensations were the same: velvety lips under his, parting provocatively and admitting his tongue. He was so used to kissing like a man - probing strongly and taking the initiative - that he continued to do so, while André seemed perfectly happy to let him, relaxing back on to the settee and drawing him down.

‘Mmmm...’ murmured the Count as they broke apart for a moment, and he reached up to touch Jonathan’s chin. ‘Not so bad, is it?’ He smiled, and then took Jonathan’s hand, from where it still held his head, turning his face so he could moistly kiss its palm.

‘No... no, it isn’t,’ stammered Jonathan, disconcerted as André surged up against him, kissed him again, and at the same time began unfastening his shirt buttons. Before he knew it, the garment was open to the waist, and the loose tails pulled out, then André was shimmying along beneath him and sucking at his nipple. He felt the Count’s teeth close wickedly and he groaned.

Jonathan had always had sensitive nipples and loved to have them played with and nibbled. For a moment, he thought of Belinda, and how beautifully she did this for him, but the next instant he was dragged back to reality, his body excited by the extra layer of piquancy that having a man’s mouth on him created.

Gothic Blue is available from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk

And you can find more frisky extracts [although not m/m] here and here.

nb. Mansnogs courtesy of The Velocity of Vincent

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And now... a SEX IN PUBLIC service announcement!



Just to remind American readers that...

WICKED WORDS: SEX... IN PUBLIC is now available!

To celebrate the US publication of this selection of exhibitionist frolics we're giving away a copy of SIP... and I'm topping that off with a copy of GOTHIC BLUE too! To be eligible for this splendiferous two-book mini-prize, just leave a comment about this post... whether about SIP *or* GOTHIC BLUE... and in a couple of week's time, we'll randomly draw one name from the list of commenters and announce the winner here so they can contact us for their prize.

For more fascinating facts about SEX... IN PUBLIC check out this archived post, and to buy the book, either whiz over to Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com

I thank you for your kind attention... :)

WendyPortia aka Portia Da Costa
Dowager Duchess and Mad Old Woman of Black Lace
Visit my Weblog :: Visit my Website :: Read Saucy Extracts