Thursday, July 10, 2014

Tease Me Thursday #18: When Will I See You Again

It's almost time for the weekend, almost Friday, so let's celebrate by letting me tease you with a little bit from one of my books or WIPs. Today, I bring you a little bit of When Will I See You Again.

This is a m/m paranormal romance/mystery featuring Raoul Marchand and Alexx Jameson. But in today's excerpt, you'll only see Raoul - the wilder side of my love 'em and leave 'em wolf.  In this excerpt, he's picking a partner du jour from the crowd at Charisma. Enjoy! Then don't forget to visit the other authors on the hop!

Raoul stopped just short of his chosen partner, pausing at the edge of the dance floor. The music was speaking to him, and he had to respond. He began to undulate to the strident bass line that reverberated with every beat of his heart. He raised his arms above his head, palms together, and began to turn on an unseen axis, rotating as he gave himself to the music, hips swaying, becoming a part of the cadence.  It filled him to the point where thinking became no longer optional, where instinct overrode intellect. The need to fuck so strong he could taste it.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open. Normally grey, on the night of the full moon they took on a topaz hue the closer the change came. They were almost gold now. He looked into the man’s soul and Raoul knew he was very ready and willing.

Raoul grabbed his hand and pushed a path through the dancing throng. A few foolhardy souls recognized him and attempted to follow, but they were quickly discouraged by two burly bouncers with zero tolerance for stupidity. 

 Once inside the sanctity of his private elevator, they began the process of undressing, even as tongues snaked into open mouths and hands groped and explored. Shoes were kicked off and discarded, buttons popped, and cloth ripped.

By the time they reached Raoul’s office, they’d gotten past the preliminaries. “Call me Louis,” the man said, but Raoul knew he never would. One time was always enough with him; Louis was only a means to an end, an itch he had to scratch.  He didn’t have to give his own name—Raoul was too well known at Charisma to expect any sort of anonymity.

They stripped off their trousers and dropped them onto the white shag carpet. Raoul ached, his body taut with a palpable need.

“C’mere you,” he beckoned in a rough voice, drawing the other into his arms. 

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