I sent the cover of Male Me to a friend/ex-work colleague in Taipei. Sara, no not her real name, I cannot pronounce her Chinese name. She asked me was Male Me a ‘rainbow book.’ At 4:30am I just thought huh? Rainbow book? Later on, after I had woken up sufficiently, I realized what Sara meant. She meant was it a gay/homosexual love story. No, it’s not. The story is about 2 men who like pleasuring one woman at the same time. It’s what they enjoy doing. Lucky woman.
Anyway, it got me thinking – why do we persist in calling things other than what they are? Is it because a ‘pretty’ or ‘nice’ name makes it more acceptable? What does that say about us as human beings? That we can accept something more when it’s got a ‘nice’ name? Is it to avoid embarrassment? What do you think?
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Emerald Eyes by talented author Solange Ayre is out now through Ellora’s Cave. Reasons to buy it? Romance, wild sex and a hot super couple….what more do you need? Click on the cover to buy.
Emerald Eyes - adult excerpt
Before Jonas could walk around to Cressida’s side of the Jeep, she exited and went to unlock the gate.
He had a quick impression of flagstone pavement, a nonworking fountain and a pale narrow house with columns. An emerald glow flared up over the roof. Does she have a spotlight on in the back? A green spotlight? But Christmas was three months ago. Before he could think more about it, she grabbed his hand, hurried him across the courtyard and unlocked the front door.
They’d barely made it over the threshold when she surprised him by flinging herself against him, her mouth demanding, her hands exploring. Their lips melded together, her heat scorching him. She plunged her tongue into his mouth. The spicy taste of her drove him wild. His cock strained against his jeans, demanding to come out and play.
Through the lust fogging his brain, all he could think about was getting her shirt off. His hands flexed, eager to knead her full breasts. As if reading his mind, she let go of him long enough to lift her shirt over her head.
Oh, man. Her bra barely restrained her bosom, the nipples showing darkly through the lacy white cups. Her generous caramel globes captured and held his gaze.
“You’re staring,” she said. “Haven’t you ever seen breasts before?”
“Not yours.” He grasped them in his palms, pushing them together to make her deep cleavage deeper still, then lowered his head. He put his mouth over one lace-covered nipple, breathing in the heat of her, inhaling her peach scent. Fondling her other nipple through the stiff lace, he heard her quick intake of breath.
He wanted to put his mouth all over her, taste every inch of her lovely smooth skin, lick and suck her nipples, navel and clit. And when she was hot and wet, frantic with desire, he’d sink his cock deep inside her pussy.
Pulling free of his arms, she opened a door leading to a center hall with a staircase. Rooms led off the hallway on each side. “Come in here,” she said, leading him toward what looked like a sitting room.
Disappointed, he wondered why they weren’t going to a bedroom. But his spirits rose when she added, “I can’t wait. There’s a fainting couch in here.”
“Which one of us is going to faint?”
She turned to look at him, quirking up an eyebrow. “You’d better not pass out, after all your big talk.”
“It’ll have to be you then,” he said. No lights illuminated the room but the moonlight streaming in through the long windows revealed a fireplace with a mirror over it, a crystal chandelier and the fainting couch—a long, backless chaise. “Women frequently faint when they see my cock.”
“Better hide it with a condom then.” She went to the chaise and lay back against the raised end, holding out her hand to him. “I hope you brought one.”
“One? You must be kidding. You’ve got your choice of red, blue, green or glow-in-the-dark yellow.” Taking her hand, he sat between her legs and leaned to kiss her again. Their mouths clung together, their tongues entwining frantically. He pushed her skirt up her thighs, thinking about removing her panties.Seeming impatient with his gentleness, she steered his hand under her skirt. “Touch me,” she said, her voice husky with longing. “Like you did in the restaurant.”
“You don’t need to ask twice.” He reached for her mound, pausing as his fingers encountered soft curls. “Your panties have disappeared,” he said. “Must be one of those New Orleans voodoo things.”
“Silly—I took them off when I went to the restroom.”
The thought of her sitting beside him in the Jeep, open and exposed, made his pulse quicken. “Good thing you didn’t tell me that in the car. We’d have never made it into the house.”
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?
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