A Steamy Excerpt from The Opera

A steamier excerpt from The Opera

Alasdair looked sorrowfully at his knee where a single thread was out of place along the inner seam. He groaned to himself, cursing the chairs in the royal courts for being unkind to such delicate fabric and fine stitching, but was soon consoled when thinking of being bare before his wife in the privacy of the tailor while watching her mend his garments, her loveliness expatiated by the glow of light pervading the tailor window.

He could watch her at her sewing table for hours, her features intent on her work, her delicate and nimble hands creating every stitch. His sighs of mild anxiety became wistful exhalations, and soon he was only too eager to visit the tailor and show Carrigh how heroically he had been portrayed. He said his good evenings to the commander and hastened away to the servants’ quarter, passing the Cuineills’ apartments and entering the tailor, where he found his wife sitting at her sewing table, appearing as beautiful as ever: the warmth of her skin summoned by the amber light from beyond the window, her golden curls illuminated by the tender glow from the lit candle beside her, her upright and slender form in perfect posture finely shaped by the outline of her simple dress. His breath was nearly lost at such a prospect: a stunning creature hidden away for his personal reflection and delight.

He closed the door behind him as she turned to greet her husband and king, and he reckoned that though he might never truly win in a duel against the Den Asaan, his prize came to him in the doting wife who was quickly approaching him, kissing his cheek, and regarding him with the most devoted looks he had ever been accorded. The governance she had over his heart was unmistakable; a kiss from her granted another from him, one more eager and more passionate than she was prepared to receive. He cradled her in his arms and consumed her, enjoying the tenderness of her lips, the warmth of her touch, and the mellifluous fragrance of her sinuous skin.

Alasdair released her and said in a low voice, “I apologize, my darling, but I’ve brought something for you to fix.”

Carrigh looked down and half-smiled. “Do you mean the torn seam in your breeches or what you have beneath them, sire?”

Alasdair turned his face to the side, moderately and happily ashamed. “It can be both, if you aren’t too upset with me for ruining your hard work.”

“I think I can forgive you, sire,” she whispered, pressing herself against him and untying the front of his breeches.

Alasdair tossed the poster onto the sewing table and asked whether his wife would forgive him standing or leaning over. She preferred that exoneration be granted in various places about the tailor, and before Alasdair was able to remove his breeches entirely, he was already receiving his forgiveness by way of a kneeling seamstress, by way of her dexterous hands and an eager mouth. Alasdair froze in place, rapt by the pleasance her fervor afforded him. Soon, however, he could no longer bear her means of forgiveness and must give way to his desires of providing her with his due apologies. He lifted her from the ground and brought her to the sewing table where he might beg to be forgiven and she might cry out her breathless pardon with each penetration her husband should supply.

A lifting of her skirts, a maneuvering her garments, and he was prepared to ask while she was more than prepared to receive his contrition. A few moments were spent glorying in his wife’s long and lean legs, her lithe flesh, and her small round backside, and when he could wait no longer, he leaned over his wife, lifted her leg against the sewing table, and enjoyed his ardent repentance.

His thrusts were measured while her crevice was yet unaccustomed to his size, but the more she accepted him, the faster his penetrations became. He osculated her arched back between his aggressive drives and he reveled in hearing her muffled cries of clemency. He gripped her hips and forced his extent within her. Her cries grew strident and her words of pardon soon became entreaties for of his penitence. Alasdair indulged her, driving unreservedly into her until he felt her contract around him. She writhed beneath him, her fingers gripping the edge of the table, moaning through her arrival, compelling him to meet her completion. He did presently, and enjoyed her gentle ripples matching the rhythm of his own.

He leaned down once he had done, kissed his wife’s cheek, and said, “Do you forgive me?” in a tender tone.

Carrigh giggled to herself. She could never have supposed herself angry with him for something that was so easily fixed and was inclined to say no if only to incur another bout of his contrition. “I forgive you, sire,” she said, smiling.

They exchanged a most devoted kiss. Carrigh returned to her seat at the table and bade Alasdair to remove his breeches from around his feet. She began mending them whilst making intermittent glances at the king beside her, glorying in his smiles and admiring the advertisement he began showing her. She could look, but she could not much attend, for the King of Frewyn was standing in her tailor, half-dressed and his complexion in a glow of affection for the pleasurable pardon he had just be awarded.

The Opera Tales from Frewyn
By Michelle Franklin


Blurb:

When due homage is paid to the heroes of Frewyn, what could possibly go wrong?

The Frewyn Players at the Royal Theatre in Diras are looking for new material to perform when a famous director from Marridon arrives to impart a Marridon theatrical pastime that is certain to make them famous. An opera will be their new performance, one that glorifies Frewyn's greatest heroes, but what begins as homage ends as mockery, and the play that would make them the greatest exhibition in Frewyn might instead make them the Den Asaan's most merited enemy.

Book on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Tales-from-Frewyn-The-Opera-ebook/dp/B005TL7QMA

Book on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/94632

Twitter: @MrsDenAsaan & @DenAsaan

Haanta Series site: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/94632

Excerpt from The Commander and the Den Asaan Rautu

He prowled over her and forced his fingers into her tight breach;
she was moist and warm, and the taste and scent of which made him
immediately prepared. “I warn you, woman, the traditional act of
Khopra would harm most of your women.” He grazed his large shaft
against her thigh and passed his remarkable virility over her mound.

“I am warned,” she murmured, reveling in his eagerness. “I am
honoured that you should feel I merit such a pleasant and torturous
experience. If you promise it will be enlightening, I shall consider doing
it more than once.”

“You will oblige me, woman,” he growled, holding her legs apart,
“And you will enjoy it.”

His intellect simmered and his eyes narrowed in sudden depravity,
his hunger finally surmounting him. He suspended his weight on his
powerful forearms and parted her thighs with his knees. He felt his
inbred fury rising and was moved to take her hips into his unassailable
grip, position himself, and plunge into her.

She bit her lip to silence her cries as the giant forced his distended
head into her taut crevice. At first, her body would not allow him
entrance, but the more he pushed the more she was forced to widen.
She winced, feeling the giant strain his overwhelming size into her. Her
limits were quickly exceeded, but any pain she may have felt was soon
surpassed by a wave of pleasure when the giant began penetrating her
at a constant rate. Her heels grazed his molded backside as it flexed,
her breasts were attacked by his teeth, and everything barbaric about
his actions was excessively pleasing to herself. She arched her back and
endeavored to relax, allowing her body to accommodate his length and
breadth.

Rautu was rapt in a euphoric pleasance as he had never endured
before, enjoying the sensation of her thighs wrapped around him as he
drove through her breach. The more of him she could accept the more
he gave, and she was soon able to contain him down to his substantial
base. His undulations became ravening and he clutched the tops of
her thighs, flinching and seething with every vicious infiltration. The
rush of pleasure from each thrust began to motivate his suppressed
fury. In the midst of his rapture, he reminded himself to remain calm,
but the arrival of her warm succulence persuaded him otherwise.

The Commander and the Den Asaan Rautu
By Michelle Franklin
Publisher: Red Willow Publishing
June 12, 2011


Book Description:

The Kingdom of Frewyn is being invaded by the Galleisian infantry and at the forefront of the battle is Boudicca MacDaede, a First Captain in the Frewyn armed forces. Her regiment is charged with defending the borders between the two nations, but when Frewyn’s last line of defense falls, Captain MacDaede enlists the assistance of a Haanta, one of giants from the islands to the far north. Promising to free him from his imprisonment in exchange for his help, she gains his trust long enough for them to win the battle and save the Frewyn border from being breached. The giant’s freedom is granted, but Rautu cannot return home unless he redeems himself in the eyes of his people for past his transgressions. He is offered a place by the captain’s side, and together, they defeat the Galleisian forces and become the saviors of Frewyn.

One year later, King Alasdair Brennin takes the Frewyn throne, Boudicca is made commander, Gallei and Frewyn reach an accord, and Rautu is granted an invitation home. He is eager to return and see his brothers but finds it difficult to leave Frewyn without Boudicca at his side. He has become accustomed to her company and the idea of being made to live without her begins to distress him. Rautu invites the commander to the islands in hopes of finding a way for them to remain together, but when they arrive at the white shores of Sanhedhran, not everything goes as planned: one of the dangerous Haanta magi is freed, Rautu’s three brothers are strangely missing, and the neighboring nation of Thellis leads an attack on the islands.

Together, the commander and the Den Asaan Rautu must find a way to unite their two nations and defend against the Thellisian fleets, but can they do so successfully when outside forces are attempting to keep them apart?