Mature holiday erotic romance
6,500 words
Smashwords and
Amazon
KDP
ISBN
(Smashwords): 9780463728154
ASIN:
B082GY5X5P
Hashtags/Keywords
Senior sex, mistletoe, blow job, oral sex,
erotic romance, mature romance, white Christmas, New England, diner, nostalgia
Tag Line
Some Christmas traditions improve with age.
Blurb
At
ten thirty on a stormy Christmas Eve, a half-frozen long haul trucker wandered
in to my diner. He really needed some hot coffee, not to mention a slice of my
luscious cherry pie.
His
chocolate-brown eyes and ready laugh spun me back to my scandalous, sensual
younger days. I hadn’t wanted anyone in years, but I wanted him. Was I brave
enough to act on my desire?
Buy Links
Kinky
Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/6448-cherry-pie-and-mistletoe-a-mature-holiday-romance/
Barnes
and
Noble
– https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cherry-pie-and-mistletoe-lisabet-sarai/1135431294?ean=2940163410828
Online Excerpt: https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2019/12/now-available-for-pre-order-cherry-pie.html
Excerpt
Before he could mention it, I refilled his
empty mug. What was it about this guy? Ants crawled along my skin. Butterflies
danced in my stomach. My nipples felt heavy and hard as polished stones and a
hungry void pulsed between my thighs.
Our eyes met. Heat flickered through me. I
held my breath.
“You got any cherry pie?” he asked at last.
Had he wanted to request something else?
“Um—yes, yes, of course,” I gasped.
Disappointment and relief warred inside me. After all, I wasn’t a girl anymore.
I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. “Best cherry pie in three counties, in
fact.”
“And would you happen to have something to
do with that, Marnie?”
“I certainly would. It’s my mother’s
recipe—by the way, what’s your name?” I winced at my own boldness. “Since you
know mine.”
“Dave,” he replied. “Dave Driver.”
I giggled. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. Guess I was fated to be a long-haul
trucker.” Sadness tinged his smile. “Anyway, Marnie—how about that pie? It’s
great talking to you, but I’ve got to be in Nebraska by Thursday morning.”
“Coming right up.” I cut him a
more-than-generous slice and topped it with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice
cream. Ruby-red fruit oozed from the flaky crust. Fingers of creamy white
dripped over the top and pooled on the plate. I garnished the whole thing with
a sprig of fresh mint and presented it to him with a flourish.
“Very Christmas-y,” he said. “Looks
delicious, too.”
“It is.” I watched him devour a big, gooey
chunk.
“Wow! This is amazing!”
“Thanks.” It felt so good to be the cause
of his innocent delight. “Glad you like it.”
“Why don’t you join me? Have a piece of
your own?”
“I shouldn’t. It’s bad for my cholesterol.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, and you have to work.
You deserve some compensation!” He held
out a moist forkful of cherries and cream. “Here, take some of mine, then.”
Giving in to impulse, I leaned over the
counter, opened my mouth and let him feed me. Flavors exploded on my tongue:
the sweet-tart burst of the fruit, the richness of the ice cream, the buttery
lightness of the crust. Dave scrutinized my face as I chewed and swallowed,
savoring every moment. I couldn’t stop licking my lips. His eyes followed my
every move. A blush climbed into my cheeks, even as I chided myself for being
immature and overly sensitive.
“See?”
he said gravely. “You should listen to me. Go get yourself some of your
incredible cherry pie.”
I didn’t resist any more. I wanted the pie.
I wanted him, too. Not much I could do about that second desire, but I could
certainly fulfill the first. Hard as it sometimes was to believe, I was sixty
four. Did I think I’d live forever?
With my pie and ice cream (a somewhat
smaller piece than I’d given him), I perched on a stool inside the serving
area. Facing each other across the counter, less than a foot apart, we ate in
silence.
I tried without success to concentrate on
the exquisite taste of the dessert in front of me, as Dave seemed to be doing.
Instead, I was intensely aware of how close he was—and how paradoxically
attractive. I watched his sensual mouth opening and closing around forkfuls of
pie, the flick of his tongue over his lips as he gathered stray crumbs, the
shift in his throat as he swallowed a mouthful of coffee.
He drained his coffee cup. He’d nearly
finished. When he was done, he’d disappear into the winter night. He had a long
way to travel before morning. His job probably depended on providing a reliable
delivery schedule.
I was just a stop along the way.
About Lisabet
Lisabet
Sarai became
addicted to
words at
an early
age. She
began reading
when she
was four.
She wrote
her first
story at
five years
old and
her first
poem at
seven. Since
then, she
has written
plays, tutorials,
scholarly articles,
marketing brochures,
software specifications,
self-help books,
press releases,
a five-hundred
page dissertation,
and lots
of erotica
and erotic
romance – over one
hundred titles,
and counting,
in nearly
every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi,
ménage, BDSM,
GLBT, and
more. Regardless
of the
genre, every
one of
her stories
illustrates her
motto: Imagination
is the
ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll
find
information
and
excerpts
from
all
Lisabet’s books
on
her
website
(http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html),
along
with
more
than
fifty
free
stories
and
lots
more.
At
her
blog
Beyond
Romance
(http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com),
she
shares
her
philosophy
and
her
news
and
hosts
lots
of
other
great
authors.
She’s also
on
Goodreads, Pinterest, and
Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh
Amber, thank you so much for helping me to get the word out!
ReplyDeleteThe color scheme of your blog is very appropriate for Cherry Pie!
You're welcome. And I agree, the pink and purple works great for your story. :)
Delete