Out Now – The River’s
Embrace by A. Silenus
Blurb:
With her blond tresses and blue eyes, London fabric retailer
Margery “Margie” Tull is used to being admired. When she’s hired to decorate a
riverside manor house though, she suspects ulterior motives.
Lord of the manor Percival Winstanley reveals a long ago
love triangle leading to death and the bewitching of his son and heir Stephen.
Margie’s cousin Shyan is supposed to protect her. But he’s lured away by
Winstanley’s cougarish housekeeper, Mrs. DePlessey, leaving Margie in the
dubious care of servant Kern.
Unsure whom to trust, Margie turns first to artist Raphael
Watts, also working at the house. Meanwhile Stephen hovers in the background
trying to draw her attention to a cottage across the river. Somehow the women
who live there are a portent of Margie’s fate. If only Stephen can convince her
of what lies in store Margie can give new hope to the manor and its heir.
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Excerpt:
Margie crept from the hall to the library and back
again. It was the strangest thing how people either were not there when they
were wanted or were breathing down your neck and scaring you out of your skin.
There seemed no middle way in this house.
She would have to go upstairs. It was the obvious
place to look. She started climbing steps, feeling like an intruder and unsure
how she would explain why she was snooping around the house if she did find
someone. A snigger told her she was on the right track. Tiptoeing across the
landing and down a passage way, she homed in on the intertwined voices, Shyan’s
wisecracks and Mrs. DePlessey’s purrs of appreciation.
Through the gap between an open bedroom door and
the jamb, Margie watched unobserved. Shyan was standing on a foot stool wearing
only underwear. Evidently measuring requirements had reached the upper thigh. A
crouching Mrs. DePlessey’s glistening nails trailed a tape over the city boy’s
pale flanks. Shyan’s muscles tensed as her fingers neared the straining
material of his briefs.
“Am I tickling?” The question was made to sound
guileless, like a dentist asking “Am I hurting you?”
“Well a bit,” Shyan said. “But it don’t bother
me.”
I’ll bet it doesn’t, Margie thought. She was so
mad at him. Had he forgotten why he had come? Not to dally with the
housekeeper, that’s for sure.
The waistband was the next number on Mrs.
DePlessey’s list, and as her arms circumnavigated Shyan’s midriff with the tape
measure she could not refrain from rubbing the bangles on her wrists against
his bare skin. The metal must have been cold, because Shyan jumped slightly at
the touch.
“Oh, I am sorry. Did I do that?”
You calculating bitch, Margie wanted to shriek.
She’d seen better acting on the soaps.
But there was nothing simulated about Shyan’s
reaction once the tape made contact at the base of his spine. Margie didn’t
have to see below his waistband to know his self-control was on the edge. It
wouldn’t take much to unbalance him.
All it did take was another move in Mrs.
DePlessey’s repertoire of suggestive contact. As her breasts prodded his
stomach, ostensibly so she could complete the tape loop, Shyan’s hands
descended onto her shoulders. Then the tape was forgotten as her lips came up
to meet his. Her clasping arms steadied him on the wobbling stool. They moved
to the bed in an uncoordinated tango, and toppled into a grinding embrace.
Shyan tackled the buttons on her blouse. His hand groped for the bra clip at
her back. He suckled on an inflamed turret of a nipple, with a gusto equal to
Ainsworth’s effort during Margie’s previous spying escapade. Then the couple’s
hands met and, steered by one or the other—or both—glided in unison down the
crevasse between their bodies until they disappeared inside Shyan’s briefs.
Margie was mesmerized. Exasperated as she was by
her cousin’s easy compliance, she couldn’t help being fascinated by this mesh
of desires. That was why it was so startling when Mrs. DePlessey rolled Shyan
to one side and, with a light kiss on the lips, told him, “We must save this.”
Shyan gaped and attempted to insert a hand between
her closed thighs.
“For what?” he asked.
She smiled, not in the provocative way Margie half
expected, but rather as if Shyan hadn’t understood.
“In time,” she said. “In time.”
Author Bio:
A. Silenus spent his early years in southern
England and now lives in Arizona. He writes in various genres under different
names. His erotica-oriented material includes
three self-published sets of short stories, Fiends That Go Boink, which
has otherworldly themes, Obsessions and Two Men And A Woman In A Boat.
Other
stories have been published in anthologies, ezines and magazines, including Afternoon
Delight (Cleis), The MILF Anthology (Blue Moon), Wicked Pleasures
(Ravenous Romance), and Forum magazine in the UK.
For
more about Silenus and his work, please go to his blog: Basic Writes: http://asilenus.blogspot.com/
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