Five graphic, erotic, romantic, short stories from Carolyn Jewel.
Don't read these if you're disturbed or offended by strong, possibly offensive, sexual content. Really. Don't.
INIGO THE MAGICIAN: A demon delivers on an ice-cold revenge after a magician uses him and a human woman to satisfy his sexual perversions. Six months later, she's not even close to recoveredhe's free and their first meeting is a volatile combination of minds, bodies, and the consequences of a promise made.
DEMON LOVER: New Orleans, 1859. At nearly twenty-eight, Zoe remains at home to support her widowed father. She longs for something more in her life. David Nataniel is a dangerous man for a woman to know. He's a client of her father's and is often at the house, but Zoe believes she's safe from his wickedness. She's not.
MY GOBLIN BOYFRIEND: 'My Goblin Boyfriend' should say it all, but in case it doesn't, Violet finds out first-hand why goblins have a rep for mastery in the bedroom after she finds an injured goblin passed out on her porch. She does the right thing for everyone involved and nurses him back to health. He's big, strong, definitely not-human, and not shy at all. Features goblin sex. Doh.
CONSTANCE: In Edwardian-era America, Nathan reluctantly agrees to seduce and impregnate his good friend's cousin. As he comes to know and like the woman, her tragic past changes him forever.
THE WILD: An unrepentant werewolf finds the woman of his dreams. She needs the kind of pain only he can deliver--- As long as she's willing to get Wild with him. Not for the faint of heart. Includes werewolf sex.
The stories are approximately 130 pages (32,000) words.
EXCERPT FROM Inigo The Magician
He was beside my bed when I woke up. Asleep, my body must have picked up on the changes in the surroundings. The displacement of air, the slide of a lithe body through space, atoms spinning away in reaction to something that had not been there before.
Probably the temperature changed. A few more degrees Fahrenheit.
Sounds that were foreign to my tiny apartment must have wormed their way into my sleeping state. Maybe that faint but terribly familiar acrid scent was enough.
It was November the twelfth: three months past the day I was supposed to have been married, and I woke up.
Knowing. With the promise I'd made uncoiling in my center. Alive. Sentient.
The room was different. Less empty. The silence pressed in on me with unaccustomed weight. When I inhaled, my lungs had to work harder to pull in the heavier air. He was here.
My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear. Either Inigo had sent him after me, or he was dead. One or the other.
"Little human." His voice was low. Not a whisper, but not a normal tone, either. I knew it was him even though in my dreams his voice was never serene the way it was now. "No more dreams."
My bedroom was black as pitch: that wasn't natural either. In the darkness, his eyes burned like red-gold embers. The heat from his body radiated in the space between my bed and where he sat.
Six months ago, he'd killed my fiance.
I don't blame him. I don't. I can't.
He was forced to do it, but the fact remains he broke Anthony's neck while I watched. Night after night, that sound finds its way into my dreams. Sometimes when I'm awake I'm convinced my brain, damaged by whatever I really saw that night, concocted a set of memories for me. Impossibilities created to replace an uglier truth. What, I wondered, could be worse than the ones I lived with instead?
In the dark, my heart beat hard. I whispered, "Is Inigo dead?"
Don't read these if you're disturbed or offended by strong, possibly offensive, sexual content. Really. Don't.
INIGO THE MAGICIAN: A demon delivers on an ice-cold revenge after a magician uses him and a human woman to satisfy his sexual perversions. Six months later, she's not even close to recoveredhe's free and their first meeting is a volatile combination of minds, bodies, and the consequences of a promise made.
DEMON LOVER: New Orleans, 1859. At nearly twenty-eight, Zoe remains at home to support her widowed father. She longs for something more in her life. David Nataniel is a dangerous man for a woman to know. He's a client of her father's and is often at the house, but Zoe believes she's safe from his wickedness. She's not.
MY GOBLIN BOYFRIEND: 'My Goblin Boyfriend' should say it all, but in case it doesn't, Violet finds out first-hand why goblins have a rep for mastery in the bedroom after she finds an injured goblin passed out on her porch. She does the right thing for everyone involved and nurses him back to health. He's big, strong, definitely not-human, and not shy at all. Features goblin sex. Doh.
CONSTANCE: In Edwardian-era America, Nathan reluctantly agrees to seduce and impregnate his good friend's cousin. As he comes to know and like the woman, her tragic past changes him forever.
THE WILD: An unrepentant werewolf finds the woman of his dreams. She needs the kind of pain only he can deliver--- As long as she's willing to get Wild with him. Not for the faint of heart. Includes werewolf sex.
The stories are approximately 130 pages (32,000) words.
EXCERPT FROM Inigo The Magician
He was beside my bed when I woke up. Asleep, my body must have picked up on the changes in the surroundings. The displacement of air, the slide of a lithe body through space, atoms spinning away in reaction to something that had not been there before.
Probably the temperature changed. A few more degrees Fahrenheit.
Sounds that were foreign to my tiny apartment must have wormed their way into my sleeping state. Maybe that faint but terribly familiar acrid scent was enough.
It was November the twelfth: three months past the day I was supposed to have been married, and I woke up.
Knowing. With the promise I'd made uncoiling in my center. Alive. Sentient.
The room was different. Less empty. The silence pressed in on me with unaccustomed weight. When I inhaled, my lungs had to work harder to pull in the heavier air. He was here.
My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear. Either Inigo had sent him after me, or he was dead. One or the other.
"Little human." His voice was low. Not a whisper, but not a normal tone, either. I knew it was him even though in my dreams his voice was never serene the way it was now. "No more dreams."
My bedroom was black as pitch: that wasn't natural either. In the darkness, his eyes burned like red-gold embers. The heat from his body radiated in the space between my bed and where he sat.
Six months ago, he'd killed my fiance.
I don't blame him. I don't. I can't.
He was forced to do it, but the fact remains he broke Anthony's neck while I watched. Night after night, that sound finds its way into my dreams. Sometimes when I'm awake I'm convinced my brain, damaged by whatever I really saw that night, concocted a set of memories for me. Impossibilities created to replace an uglier truth. What, I wondered, could be worse than the ones I lived with instead?
In the dark, my heart beat hard. I whispered, "Is Inigo dead?"
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