Date Published: 8/27/13
When Ramsey DeKieran, disgraced nobleman and accused murderer, was offered a pardon Ram knew there'd be a catch. The High Lord of Verdantia offered him a clean slate in exchange for the off-world rescue of a Verdantian noblewoman – a suicide mission that had already cost the lives of good men. The one redeeming feature was the assistance of the stunning captain of Verdantia’s elite mercenary team.
For Captain Steffania Rickard, assisting DeKieran in the rescue of a woman critical to the future of Verdantia would be difficult enough. The rouge tripped all her triggers – good and bad. Infinitely worse, to fit into the culture of Vxloncia, she must pose as Ram's sex slave. The sexually dominant Ramsey was nothing if not perceptive and Steffania doubts her carefully disguised and deeply hidden desires will remain concealed.
Their mission takes on new meaning when they unmask a heinous program of enslavement, long cloaked in secrecy. Together they must find a way to overcome their initial animosity and recover a woman vital to the future of their race. Together, they would have to bring a malicious entity to justice.
In the maelstrom of sex, savagery, domination and submission, Ram and Steffania will need all their wits and strength to survive.
Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/Hers-To-Cherish-Verdantia-Book-ebook/dp/B00ES4MW8C/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382320914&sr=8-1&keywords=hers+to+cherishThe $64,000 Question: Why Is Sci-Fi Sexy?
In the time-honored tradition of storytelling, I will try to illustrate with words why Sci-Fi is sexy. Here are a couple of paragraphs that came hot off the keyboard.
Clear your mind. Settle into your chair and relax. Now imagine this:
I, Darla Marie Dexter, object of alien fixation and thus representative for the entire human race, sat alone in my neighborhood Chicago bar – the one with the too-loud music and the tacky plastic tablecloths that my ex used to disparage. But I was waiting for a male from the planet Vortus. What would he know from plastic tablecloths?
It was late, but the joint was packed. A good local band had played tonight. I chatted with Max, the bartender, and sipped my girly mixer with the pineapple on a stick and a cheesy little umbrella. I was always too embarrassed to order one in front of my sophisticated former boyfriend but I was a sucker for anything coconut.
Max’s head lifted and his eyes shot to the door to draw my attention to the new arrival. I would have known, regardless. I felt it when he walked in. Because of my seniority with the Office of Extra-terrestrial Assistance, I’d been assigned as personal, cultural liaison to the Vortian. You know, prevent any social faux pas, educate the alien on how earthlings behave, that sorta stuff. I just didn’t realize how intimately he wanted to liaise. I hoisted my cocktail and tried not to stab my eye out with the umbrella as I gulped the entire contents.
“It’s the Vortian, Darla. Back to work.”
“Yeah, Max. I know.”
I ran shaky fingers through my page-boy hair cut. First putting my brunette locks behind my ears, then pulling the hair back to cover the blush that heated my cheeks.
I did know. I could feel the Vortian’s arousal. I could feel the blood pounding into his groin. I could feel the expansion of his male, ah, parts . . . yeah, you heard right, parts. See, that was the thing. I didn’t imagine I felt it. I really felt it. That mind telepathy stuff made the male delegates from Vortus a real hit with us earth ladies. Well, that and the extras that wrapped around and tickled your, ahem, while they, ah, stroked inside with the other, ah, thing. I picked up my bar coaster and started to fan my face.
And then I was looking at me through his eyes. I could see my slender body perched on the barstool, my miniskirt barely decent, my four-inch stilettos caught on the wrung of the stool. I inhabited his body – a body that was, whoa, gorgeous, and equipped with that little something, ah, extra. And all the time there were these erotic images of what he wanted to do to me rolling through my mind like classy porn – memories of what I had looked like coming apart underneath him the last time he’d done me. Holy multiple orgasms! Take me to your leader.
I shoved the empty fruit-drink toward Max.
“Maxie, I need some ice water, fast.”
The closer he came, the hotter I got. The bar stool I was sitting on was getting a little slippery from all the extra moisture down there, if you know what I mean. I knew, without even turning around, when he reached out to touch me. I could see it through his eyes.
“Darla.” The deep whisky velvet of his voice added to the sensory overload and I turned with a brilliant smile.
“Are you ready?”
“Absolutely.” Oh, lordy, the things a woman will do to save Earth.
~ ~ ~
There! Now, dear reader, you are going off to have sex with a telepathic alien with vibrating parts. Can you get THAT on earth? (If you can, will you please give me his number?)
Patricia A. Knight is the pen name for an eternal romantic who lives in Dallas, Texas surrounded by her horses, dogs and the best man on the face of the earth – oh yeah, and the most enormous bullfrogs you will ever see. Word to the wise: don’t swim in the pool after I love to hear from my readers and can be reached at http://www.trollriverpub.com/ or http://www.patriciaaknight.com . Or send me an email at firstname.lastname@example.org .
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