To celebrate its publication birthday, here is a short and steamy excerpt from my novel The Art House:
Drinking sometimes caused old feelings to resurface and made unwanted tears fall. It was undeniable, though: ever since this adventure had started, she’d had more than a few reminders of times and people she’d tried for years to forget. She passed a kitchen and several other rooms too large for a bathroom and too dark to really see into. Checking behind elaborate doors, she found a number of closets and staircases but no bathroom. Finally, she found a small restroom and after relieving herself, checked her appearance in the floor-length gold-framed mirror that wasn’t hanging but rather propped against the wall at a stylish angle. She rubbed away the smears of makeup under her eyes and tried to recapture some of that buzz which had leaked out through her tears.
On the way back, she passed one of the doors that had led to a secret spiral staircase. Mistakenly, she must have left it ajar. When she moved to close it, she heard a man groan.
Freezing with her hand on the doorknob, she listened again to make sure she hadn’t just been imagining things. Then it came again, this time with a woman’s muffled moan in erotic harmony. Her pulse beginning to race, she slowly peeked into the stairwell.
It was a couple all right, there at the foot of the stairs. A long blonde-haired woman in a flowing green dress had her skirts gathered up around her as she knelt in front of a man, frantically giving him fellatio. The man’s upper body was cast in shadow, but she could make out his longish dark hair and stubble. His eyes were closed, his face twisted in fervent ecstasy. She didn’t recognize either of them as anyone Trixi had introduced her to.
The woman’s head bobbed back and forth, her hand stroking the man’s hard cock, which he’d pulled through his pants. She seemed to be enjoying the event as much as he was. Janelle knew she should give this couple their privacy, even if they were doing this out in public. It was their moment of passion, not hers. Still, she found herself unable to break away, her breath growing shallow.
The man gasped and muttered “faster” in a desperate, guttural tone. Janelle had a strong desire to reach inside of her soft blouse and pinch her hardening pink nipples beneath the shell of her bra. She looked down, ashamed but fascinated. A burst of movement brought heat to her cheeks as she panicked, fearing she’d been discovered. But it was only the man, pulling the woman up from the floor and positioning her on all fours on the stairs. He lifted her skirts, her underwear already down around one ankle. His erection, barely visible in the shadow, arced up from his body like an arrow.
He plunged into the woman. She groaned, and Janelle bit down on her thumbnail, her sex tingling with the strong sweet scent of her own stimulation. She needed to leave them alone, let them have their moment, but she couldn’t move her feet. Their passion was intoxicating, something real, unlike so many of her relationships of late. She could actually feel their lust, the forbidden rush of this secret act trapping her in place. She kept her hand on the doorknob, the other hand slack at her side, though she desperately longed to touch herself.
“Darling, did you hear something?” the woman asked, and they stopped moving.