Saturday, June 2, 2012

Sex Scene Saturday: Raf and Aurelia ****CONTEST**** and Contest Winner!

Howdy y'all! It's another glorious Sex Scene Saturday! Today, I'm bringing you BRIDE OF THE WOLF, my paranormal historical romance!

But first, let's find out who won LONG RELIEF from last Saturday! Chosen by Random.org number generator, the winner is...

KATHLEEN FROM GOODREADS AND ALSO AUSTRALIA!

Kathleen, I'll be getting in touch with you regarding what format you need.

Okay, folks, enjoy the excerpt from BRIDE OF THE WOLF and check out how you can win the book at the end of this post!

PS. Don't you just love this cover? This is an amazing cover. This might be my favorite cover I've ever gotten.



Commanded to marry the son of Lord Canis, a powerful ally of her father and King Edward, Aurelia knows she is about to venture into a den of wolves. For the men who live at Blackens Gate are no ordinary men, able to change at will into enormous, bloodthirsty beasts…and as a mere human, Aurelia is a reviled outsider.

When the wolves escorting his brother’s bride to Blackens Gate turn on her, Sir Raf Canis finds himself in the unlikely position of rescuer. After losing his leg—and his place in the pack—Raf refuses to bring himself further shame by failing to deliver the lovely Aureilia. But the innocent maiden proves to be a temptation even he cannot resist.

Within the dark, dangerous forest, a love begins that neither can deny. To protect Aurelia, Raf must betray everything he has come to believe about his life among wolves, and risk death to save the only woman ever to touch his wounded soul.



She took a breath. Her hands trembled and she clasped them together beneath her cloak. “Then what is next?”
He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, pressing her fingertips against his lips. “You know,” he said, an echo of the words he’d spoken before, when he’d been unable to say what he truly wished to.
And in response, again, she replied, “I do.”
He kissed her, one arm around her back to support her, and a good thing, too, for she did swoon under his mouth. The taste of spice and ale on his mouth and the sweep of his tongue against hers weakened her knees. She clutched at his shoulders, and he broke apart from her long enough to say, “The bed.”
He advanced on her with kisses and she, giggling, backed away until the low bed hit her ankles and she sat down on the thin straw. He caught her up with one arm and pulled her atop him as he lay down, and she stared into his face, her hair falling around both of them. He scooped some of it back with his thumb to smooth it behind her ear. “Do you still believe what you said this morning?”
She thought back, to when she had told him. That she chose this path, that she trusted him. It was as true now as then. More so, now, for she was no longer trusting him to simply keep her from danger. She trusted him not to put her very heart in peril.
Smiling, she leaned down and brushed her lips across his. “I choose you.”
He leaned up, a hand in her hair to tug her down, crushing their mouths together. Her head reeled. This was another kind of danger, one she had no fear of losing herself in. He moved her to his side, his hands working at the laces of her tattered kirtle.
His hand cupped the base of her skull, brushing over some delightful spot. She gasped and arched her neck, forcing his fingers over that place once more. His fingertips slid through her hair, stroking her scalp with the softest of touches, and she squirmed, her breath caught on a mewling sigh.
His mouth left hers to wander over her cheek, then her jaw, to just beneath her ear, his wicked lips seeking out every bit of flesh he could reach. When his mouth closed over her earlobe, she arched up, unable to stand anymore. Her hands splayed against his chest, her only safe ground in the ocean of fierce sensation drowning her. His hand in her hair, skimming circles over that tremor-inducing place he’d found, brought a high, tight sound from her throat, surprising her. Between her thighs, she throbbed, her most private flesh grown slippery and hot.
She knew, as any maid old enough to bleed knew, how the act was accomplished, but never had she been told that it would be so exhilarating or frightening. Precious inches from losing control completely, she clung to him.
His hands slipped into her open kirtle, running over her spine through her chemise, up and then down, to cup her buttocks through the thin muslin. He pulled her hips forward, and she sat astride him as he worked her dress and chemise up. She raised her arms to help him pull the garments over her head, but reached to cover herself when she was suddenly very naked before him.
A low laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’ve seen you before, you know.”
“That was different.” She couldn’t help her blush, seeing the way his gaze roved over her, as though he were starving for her. Her skin peppered with gooseflesh in the cool room, and he smoothed it away, warming her with his touch on her shoulders, her arms, her waist. She caught his hands in hers, brought them to her breasts. Her nipples hardened beneath his palms as he cupped her flesh.
He sat half up, and she leaned to kiss him again as his hands molded her flesh. Fire swept through her, an arching flame that plunged through her body from his lips, then up again, low in her belly. It left in its wake a need that burned. Her hands delved beneath his doublet, seeking out his skin, and he leaned back, his touching leaving her body for only a moment as he divested himself of the garment.
She rose to her knees and swung her leg off him, sitting beside him on the bed expectantly. “Well?”
With a half-smile, he reached for the laces of his braies. She noticed the tremor in his hands, and that he did not work so quickly as he had at the laces of her kirtle. She brushed his hands aside and unlaced him herself, darting her hand inside the parted cloth, against the coarse gold hair that lead in a line from his navel and disappeared beneath the fabric. His cock leapt at her palm, and she could not help the flush that suffused her face even as she closed her hand around him.
It was a terribly strange thing to her, to hold him in her hand and hear him groan, feel his heart beating under her palm. She’d never touched a man this way before, and it seemed unfair that in her inexperience she wielded so much obvious power over him. Her own pulse throbbed between her legs, and she stroked him, restlessly pressing her thighs together to ease some of the ache there.
He lifted his hips, at the same time gently capturing her wrist and pulling her hand free. He pushed his braies down, and then, in a shock of realization, she knew why he’d hesitated disrobing before. His iron leg, fastened with tight straps to his thigh, was the only thing he wore on that side. On the other, a single leg of hose covered him, and he rolled that off and tossed it aside before reaching to unbuckle the false leg. The woolen bandage that wrapped his stump anchored with a length across his chest and over his opposite shoulder.
His mouth was grim as she watched him unlatch the first buckle, sliding the strap through the metal to free it. “Have you changed your mind?”
She shook her head, but no words came to her. It would not be fair to lie to him, not in this moment, when so much intimacy had already passed between them. To fear his infirmity would be an insult, but she could not help but recoil at the sight of the stump, reddened from the cup of the iron leg, knotted with scarred flesh. He raised up to discard the bandage, and fell back heavily.
When he rolled the iron to the floor, she looked up to find him watching her. He searched for disgust in her expression, and likely he found it. But she could not have him believe her repulsed by him. What was a leg, when compared to the rest of him, as perfect as any man she could have imagined? Words would not do, so she leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of his thigh, near his hip. She did not touch the raw, ruined end of that mangled leg, but she kissed him, and those kisses moved from his thigh to the slight ridges of his stomach, to his chest like stone and the hard bunches of muscle beneath the skin of his arms. She slid her body over his, reveling in the meshing of their skin, the tickle of crisp hair against her breasts.
Raf threaded his fingers in her hair again, pulling to tilt her face toward him. She met his gaze, full of self-loathing and expectation of rejection, and watched it melt into one of wonder. He kissed her, all of the tenderness gone out of him, making way for a brutal passion that she did not resist.
Rolling her to his side, his mouth found her neck, her throat, and she writhed against him, gasping for breath beneath his lips and tongue. His arm around her back held her, though she needed no restraint to keep her at his side. His lips traveled lower, to her breasts, where he sucked one nipple into his mouth. She did arch away from him then, but his grip did not release, and her gasps grew to cries, the fire in her burning harder, heat thrumming through her veins as his tongue swirled over the hard nub.
She hooked her leg over his waist, grinding her hips against his thigh, and he groaned, slipping a hand between them to venture between her legs. When his fingers touched the slick flesh there, another guttural noise sounded from his throat, and she laid back, her legs falling open. He leaned over her, kissing her shoulder, her breast as one rough finger slipped through her cleft. His fingertip brushed the very center of the desire that had been building in her, and she cried out, bucking her hips as he rubbed over and over it. The sensation tightened her muscles, dug her toes into the straw mattress beneath her as she lifted her hips higher.
“Wait,” he whispered, his voice ragged. He pulled her astride him again, and she moaned in despair at the loss of his touch. The tip of his cock touched her, and she rose up on her knees in surprise. He coaxed her down with whispered words, helped her to position herself above him. The head of him brushed her, and she shivered at the ghost of the feeling his finger had roused.
Still, at the very precipice of this intimate mystery, she felt fear. She whimpered as he pushed up, though her body opened to accept him eagerly. Gently, he pulled her down, tearing the barrier of chastity in a moment of pain that clouded her desire. The moment passed, though the pain lingered, and she opened her tightly closed eyes to find him looking up at her, worry in his expression.
“It was nothing,” she managed, choking on a gasp as she slipped farther down, taking him inside of her completely.
“Nothing?” He gave a weary laugh. “That does much for my confidence.”
She wanted to laugh with him, but her body, aflame for so long she feared she might burn up entirely, dictated that she move. She rocked her hips, sobbing aloud at the delicious tug that answered deep within her.
“Perhaps more substantial than nothing?” he asked, and though he tried to sound light and teasing, the tremor in his voice betrayed him. He struggled, just as she did, beneath the relentless battering of need, of desire restrained, and she moved again, thrilling at his wordless exclamation that resulted.

Want to win a story about hot, one-legged werewolf? You know you do. Just leave a comment, with your email address, on this post before 6pm EST next Friday for a chance to win. I'm giving away one copy of BRIDE OF THE WOLF to the lucky winner, who will be drawn at random. If you're reading this post at GoodReads.com, please click the "More at Jennifer Armintrout's Website" link at the bottom of the post and leave your comment at my blogger site, because GoodReads sometimes loses comments for me, and I am just sick to my butt when that happens and you miss your chance at the prize.

And after you enter to win, go visit some of these other purveyors of fine booty, who have also posted sexy excerpts today:


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