Well, I have finally finished my new book and it will be released by the end of May by Yellow Silk Dreams Publishing. Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences Is the story about a young woman who meets a young, black opera star post-symphony at an elegant reception held in one of the symphony benefactors mansions in San Francisco.
A greeting, a touch, a shared breath. Their worlds collide and ignite in an erotic explosion of volcanic proportions that neither could resist. How about a bit of a blurb and a tasty teaser?
Enjoy ~ ☼ღஜ ﾚo√乇 ¸.☆¨¯`*.✿.*˜"*° ♥
Blurb:
A greeting, a touch, a shared breath. Their worlds collide and ignite in an erotic explosion of volcanic proportions that neither could resist. How about a bit of a blurb and a tasty teaser?
Enjoy ~ ☼ღஜ ﾚo√乇 ¸.☆¨¯`*.✿.*˜"*° ♥
 |
| Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences by Muffy Wilson Yellow Silk Dreams Publishing |
THAT night…
SHE wore a flowing, form fitted white spaghetti strapped
gown that cascaded in tumbled silken folds to her abdomen and revealed her
breath in the soft rise of her alabaster breasts. Her eyes reflected an emerald
depth with gold flecks that edged to hazel and were framed by neat, arched
brows that narrowed to her temples where her heartbeat announced the rhythm of
her life. Her only adornment was a starkly white gardenia nestled in the curves
of her auburn. The heavy floral fragrance of the corsage announced her arrival
as she glided elegantly to her aisle and settled, like a dove, into her center
seat. She was alone…but not for long.
Would she regret her indulgence?
HE was a towering, self-assured giant of a black man, chest
broad and arms outstretched in opulent black leather. His intense black eyes locked
irresistibly onto her and declared his hunger. The opera house erupted with his
full bass-baritone harmony. His musical seduction began, and his hypnotic gaze
was met by her eager response as she answered his desire with a blush.
But, was his desire enough?
THEY spent an insatiable night together in Room 457 of
the Historic Whitcomb Hotel locked in a magnetic embrace riding moonbeams of
passion and ribbons of desire that wove them irretrievably together in ways that
only the future would disclose—a future neither of them ever anticipated. Would
the secrets of the past, of that one night, prove too much to bear as the future
unfolds the truth and the depths of her desperate need?
Would the life and death struggle she faced overshadow
the seeds of love planted a decade earlier?
Teaser:
The orchestra warmed up in a
disconnected, faltering collection of notes, strings and horns as the wealthy
patrons filed into the theatre and were settled. She wore a flowing yet form
fitted white spaghetti strapped gown with a backline to the small of her back
above the well-rounded cheeks of her ass. The cascading neckline tumbled in
silken folds to her abdomen which revealed her breath in the soft rise of her
alabaster breasts.
She was of medium height with an
envious rubenesque shape most men admired: long, shapely legs nipped tightly at
the ankle tapering to narrow, small demi-feet elegantly adorned in satin heeled
slippers with scarlet, well-pedicured peek-a-boo toes, full breasted bosom with
pert erect nipples stretched against the fabric of her gown, round hips that
accentuated a narrow waist and a lovely pleasing back that joined all her
sumptuous qualities. Her eyes reflected an emerald depth with gold flecks that
edged to hazel and were framed by neat, arched brows that narrowed to her
temples where her heartbeat announced the rhythm of her life. Her rounded
cheekbones accentuated the graceful curve of her jaw line as it narrowed to a
slightly dimpled chin below heart-shaped ruby lips. Her only adornment was a
starkly white gardenia nestled in the curves of her auburn curls that caressed
the pale white opaque flesh of her face. The heavy floral fragrance of the
corsage announced her arrival. She glided elegantly to her aisle and settled,
like a dove, into her center seat. She was alone.
The house lights dimmed yet she
glowed, demurely, in the white gown as if she were unmistakably the main
attraction.
She stared as he walked onstage:
a towering, self-assured giant of a black man, arms outstretched in black
opulent leather to embrace the audience, she felt to embrace her. His piercing
gaze locked irresistibly onto her, in all her radiant purity. His intense black
eyes seemed to declare his hunger.
The opera house erupted with his
full bass-baritone harmony. He sang, it seemed to Jordan, to no one but her as
she smiled quite involuntarily. Each throaty, reverberating note he released
strummed every nerve to her very foundation.
His musical seduction began, and would surely end she thought, with her
in his outstretched arms.
Her petulant feminine petals
nestled in the protective mound where her thighs joined. They slowly filled
with her eager response and unfolded the protection of the essential pearl of
her existence as she answered his desire with a blush.
She sat through the entire
performance tethered to his gaze. The magnetism she could not resist overtook
her fully and her responses were involuntary yet welcome. She felt his gaze
through her gown caress her, push her, tease her and excite her with every deep
vibrato he released into the hall.
She was, therefore, completely
surprised when the lights raised and the fluid embrace of his voice was
gradually replaced by the swelling bustle of movement from the exiting
audience. She looked to her left and right, then up to the stage beautifully
shrouded by long red opulent velvet curtains separating her from the object of
the gathered passion in her belly.
Her reverie broken, she returned
to the moment at hand. As she rose, the romantic trance invoked by his voice
broke, the hold eased, and dropped shard by shard from her body so that she
could move. She gathered her wits, shook off the spell and seemed to float in
the afterglow with the others to the atrium. She exited the main entrance to the
broad threshold above the street below.
She took a few steps outside and
shocked by the damp San Francisco night, drew her wrap ever tighter to her
heaving breast, her nipples still erect from the seduction of the opera star.
She paused a moment, enjoyed the remains of her trance, and proceeded down the
steps to hail a cab.
The after symphony reception was
held at the home of one of San Francisco’s most prominent elite, a huge
supporter and member of the Symphony Board of Directors, Drake Morrison. Drake
and his wife Amelia were friends of Jordan’s parents who were absent because of
a holiday in the Orient. Jordan’s parents were regular supporters of the
Symphony and met the Morrisons frequently during intermission on most opening
nights for a glass of champagne. She had been invited as a distraction from her
solitude to join them on opening night at the reception in their home. She
agreed to attend eagerly as she often attended the symphony with her Mother
when her Father was unable.
She felt her low-belly tighten;
her heart pounded and her palms tingled with perspiration in anticipation. The
main opera lead and cast always came to the receptions. The non-profit
organization relied upon their attendance to boost donations so she knew she
would see him here and she wondered if he would even recognize her or if the
reverie of connection had been hers alone.
When he entered with his
entourage, he towered over everyone with his black elegance. He was beautiful,
a stunning black onyx statue carved to magnificent perfection. When she saw
him, only feet away, she staggered slightly as he turned to her with an
outstretched hand in greeting, eyes locked in a magnetic embrace. She lost her
breath and her heart in one moment as she touched his fingertips with hers.
He clasped her hand with the both
of his and pulled her close to his body with a knowing smile curled on the
curve of his chiseled jaw line. She felt his heat, was hypnotized by his aroma.
She knew then that he remembered her in the audience; he had sung to her, he
had sent his words in musical notes on foils to surround her, lift and seduce
her.
The moment was suspended when he
was directed to further introductions. He bowed ever so slightly with his
departure and barely whispered, a
bientot, mem’selle, his breath searing her neckline. She weakened in his presence and felt ill-balanced on a
passionate precipice as he moved away. Their arms outstretched unwilling to be
parted, her hand slid from his as their fingertips relinquished an electric
hold.
“A bientot, mem’selle,” he had said. She hung on every word with
rapt expectation for their next meeting as he moved into the crowd of admirers.
She watched as he worked the
room, seducing male and female alike with his charisma and brilliance. He was a
master in the simple ministration of his charm. He spoke with confidence,
smiled at nonsensical nervous banter and made everyone most relaxed in his
presence with an effortless touch.
The night edged on and she
resigned she was like all the others, seduced by the sheer presence of the man.
She sought out the Morrisons and bid them a grateful goodnight. She went into
the library where her wrap was hung. A manly black hand extended and took it
from her grip and as she spun, he curled her into his embrace as well as the shawl.
“My
room key at the Hotel Whitcomb. The town car service I called to
take you there is waiting outside. Room 457. Have I presumed too much?” as he
pressed himself to her body and the key card into her hand. The low melodious
tone of his voice melted any thought of resistance.
“I,
ah…No, you have not presumed beyond expectation. I ache to feel you inside me,
truly, and I thank you for your discretion. The Morrisons are long time friends
of my parents who don’t yet consider me a grown woman,” she smiled into his
down-turned eyes and smelled his heat.
© Muffy
Wilson
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| Yellow Silk Dreams Publishing |
Author Bio and Links:
Other Novels and Contributions:
Your Comments Encourage
Muffy,
author of erotic, romantic stories about love, sex, hope and passion, was born
in San Antonio, Texas, to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was
the youngest, the family "princess," indulged and pampered. She
adored her older brothers, following them everywhere and was surrounded by
love, stimulation, and pets. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the
U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. The family
lived in most points between Alaska and France. Muffy spent her formative years
in Europe and came of age in France.
Returning from France with her
family, Muffy finished high
school in Northern California and attended the University of
California, Davis, and majored
in
Business Management. Muffy entered the work force, independent with a fierce
work ethic, and retired at 39 from IBM as a Mid-West Regional Director in the
Real Estate and Construction Division. She and her husband moved to a small
Island in northern Wisconsin where they owned a historic tavern, restaurant and
resort business which they since have sold. They now live a charmed life by the
water in SW Florida. Muffy
pretends to be a serious real estate business person but, in real life,
indulges her private interest in writing sexy short stories and sensual
literotica ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion.
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Previously
Published:
Secret
Cravings Publishing, Oysters & Chocolate, Decadent Publishing, Ravenous Romance,
Yellow Silk Dreams Publishing
Coming
Soon:
Cheerleaders in Heat ~ TBA Summer 2015
Cheerleaders in Heat ~ TBA Summer 2015
Other Novels and Contributions:
Your Comments Encourage
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Live ~ Laugh ~ Love
with Passion
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I was born when we kissed; I died when we parted. I lived in your embrace while we loved..........