Saturday, May 1, 2010

Excerpt: Tailspin by Denise Rossetti

We have another yummy excerpt from Denise Rossetti. This one is from Tailspin. How great is Mirry?!

Don't miss her website, she's got the prologue, first chapter and a special interview with Mirry. Check it out here.   Just want him?   Click on him to buy the book.

So, a huge shout out thank you to Denise for letting me post this, and without further ado...a little glimpse of Mirry. 


Mirry slid his palm from her shoulder to her hand, lingering over the caress. He grasped it and drew it up slowly, over his knee. Higher.“You may as well look, you know. It won’t go away while you’re touching me.” His voice was so absolutely toneless, she knew he must be amused by her naivety. But when she glanced into his face, there was nothing to be seen but calm and concentration.Nonetheless, the suspicion he was laughing at her lingered and the sting of it gave her courage.She let herself look.And made a startling discovery. “Lufra! There’s no hair on your body.”“Only feathers,” he agreed. “Except on my head.”

Something tugged her closer and she realized his tail was snugged around her waist, the feathered end of it brushing her belly. But that was a peripheral consideration. She leaned forward, enthralled, and his hips rose slightly off the bed.
She’d never cared much for testicles, though Veryl had been inordinately proud of his. They’d been big enough for manliness, she supposed—she had no grounds for comparison. But they’d been wrinkled and hairy and pendulous, not round and rosy-gold and tight like ripe gaeta fruits on the vine. Bare and smooth.

All the air in the wagon evaporated. She couldn’t suck enough of it into her lungs.

When she licked her lips, Mirry made a purring noise deep in his throat. His…his… Lufra, she had to brace herself to form the word, even in her head. His cock reared over his ridged stomach, a golden column. The broad head flushed a deep amber and a pearl of moisture glimmered on the tip, gilded by the light of the lantern. As she watched, he took it in one hand, running his thumb over the satiny skin with casual competence. His chest rose and fell, the gilded nipples fiercely erect.

Shameless, he was absolutely shameless.

“True enough.” He chuckled and her sex contracted with greed at the wicked, masculine sound. Gods, she’d spoken aloud! Either that or he’d read her mind.

“Fledge.” Plumage rustled as he tilted his head, holding her pinned with the intensity of his raptor’s gaze. Suddenly, she had an insight into the mortal terrors of small tasty creatures like bunrats. “Touch me.”

There was no room for choice in his tone, nothing but imperious demand. Fledge froze, immobilized by longing, paralyzed by fear.

The seconds stretched. Finally, Mirry sighed. The strange, tufted brows drew together. He lifted his fingers away from hers, uncoiled his tail from around her waist. Without the warmth of his flesh, a chill slithered down her spine.

He tucked his hands behind his head, revealing more russet-colored, wispy down, this time in the hollows under his arms. The sight affected her strangely, made her chest hurt.

“Please,” he said. The word seemed dragged out of him. Even as his hips lifted and his cock quivered, his sculptured lips compressed in a thin line of displeasure. Fledge knew that expression. She’d angered him. Gods. Her spine stiffened while her stomach roiled. Imperceptibly, she withdrew and Mirry sighed. The silence stretched, but he made no further move toward her and finally, she was able to raise her eyes to his.

She drowned in the topaz depths. “I’ll never see you again,” she husked. “I know that.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged and feathers whispered across her pillows. “Perhaps not.”

The moment he’d set her free, perversely, she wanted to be held. She shook her head, amazed at herself. Her brain must be disordered by such unadulterated beauty. He’d hypnotized her.

“No?” He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. A muscle at the corner of his jaw knotted. “Ah well, I’ll not force you.” He sat up with a wince, a tawny angel shining in her shabby wagon. “I’d better go.”

“No! You can’t! I mean—” She swallowed, conscious her voice had risen to an undignified squeak. “Your wings. I have to— They’re still filthy and your wound…”

“Don’t worry, little Fledge.” He trailed his knuckles across her cheek. “I’ll be fine.

He was really going. Really. Forever. All sense left her. The seconds tiptoed by, rich with the strange and varied noises of the Ten Nations Fair at night. A man whistled tunelessly in the distance. Harness jingled in a cheerful counterpoint, one of the vranee whickered.

“You could close your eyes,” she whispered.

In the warmth and the lamplight, the silence seemed endless. A night wind swept over the campground, making canvas flap and timber creak. The little wagon rocked the slightest bit.

Finally, Mirry said, “So I could.” Every movement graceful and deliberate, he took the bowl from her nerveless fingers and laid it on the floor. Then he lay back against the pillows, reached out a long arm and drew her down to his chest. He tipped up her chin with one hand, tilted his head and fitted his mouth over hers.

Her first gasp was one of surprise, her second a moan of pleasure. Ah Goddess, he kissed as though time was an irrelevance, nibbling lightly at her lower lip, running his tongue gently over the curve of it. There was no rush, no slobbering or pushing, just an ocean of gentle delight, of satin smooth and tingling texture, wet and hot and firm. As it went on and on and he showed no sign of impatience or dissatisfaction, Fledge allowed herself to relax, to sink into the intoxicating depths of it, a fraction at a time.

Mirry still held her hand in his, his long fingers laced through hers. When the other flailed about, he caught it and skimmed it over the good side of his chest, brushing her palm over the fine feathers. They were soft and cool, tickling her skin, the way she imagined the breast of a bird might do. But underneath was a wealth of smooth, warm solidity.

Shyly, she let her tongue creep out and play with his. Mirry made a humming sound of approval and drew her closer, spearing his fingers into her hair and dislodging the tie she used to keep the curls from swinging in her face. He deepened the kiss, luring her on until she was so lost in sensation, she would have crawled right inside his skin if she’d been able. His elegant fingers cradled the back of her skull, his big body was hard and furnace hot beneath hers and his tail clamped around her waist, a girdle of silk-clad muscle. Simultaneously ravished and comforted, Fledge moaned into his mouth.

He took his time, but finally, infinitely slowly, he let her surface, brushing his lips across hers, kissing her eyelids, the tip of her nose, laying a trail of nibbles along her jaw. Under her clutching fingers, his shoulders were rigid, as hard as marble, belying the tenderness of his lips. At last, he pulled back to stare into her face.

For an instant, surprise swam in his eyes, but before she could work out why that might be so, he smiled and Fledge lost her mind. It was a grin of unabashed boyish delight and it lit his face with an unholy beauty. Reeling under the impact, she gurgled, as stunned as if he’d hit her with his fist.

“Sweet,” he murmured. “So pouty and soft. Like a little cushion.” He rested the flat of his thumb on the center of her lower lip. “Just here.” His voice dropped a register. “Gods, the things I could do with your mouth…”


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