By Colette Gale
From the writer of Unmasqued comes a daring and erotic retelling of The count number of Monte Cristo.
Dantes spent years imprisoned for a criminal offense he didn?t devote. Now he?s again to Paris within the guise of the count number of Monte Cristo, looking vengeance on those that despatched him to prison. yet his plan additionally encompasses a diversified type of revenge?on the lady he hasn't ever forgotten, the sweetheart he has made it his venture to own. So unfolds an erotic conflict of wills within the such a lot electrifying online game of affection ever performed among guy and lady, grasp and slave.
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Additional info for Master: An Erotic Novel of the Count of Monte Cristo
But his voice was steady and easy and exotic. She realized her nipples had hardened and poked through the thin silk that had seemed loose and flowing but, now that she’d been seated, seemed to cling everywhere. The slightest movement caused it to rub against her skin like a lover’s caress. Omania and her companion served them in silence, and Mercedes ate the roasted quail stuffed with rice, and a tiny, sweet grain mixed with raisins and dates. Bloodred wine splashed into her goblet and she drank it, and then water, before she had cheese and bread, pears, and figs.
She did, settling back on her haunches, taking his thick length inside her, releasing it, lifting and falling, jolting back and forth in an increasing rhythm. Her breasts tightened, her nipples puckered and thrust, and his palms closed over them, warm and solid. She lifted her hands in the air, reaching toward the olive branches above from that day in the sun. She reached and tipped and tilted, faster and faster, Edmond beneath her, the sun beating down on her, his hands on her breasts, the olive leaves just out of reach.
Mercedes leaned toward him, and he fed her a bite of the chewy paste. She swallowed the odd-tasting mixture and then sipped her wine as Neru and Omania also ate from the spoon. ” she asked. “It has many names, but the one you might be familiar with is hashish,” Sinbad told her. “Now shall we relax? Here, there is more to drink. ” Mercedes saw the thin reed of various pipes curling from the bowl. Some form of incense began to waft through the air, making the room again smaller, and warmer. The smell was unfamiliar to Mercedes, but it wasn’t unpleasant; it had a sort of musky scent laced with a bit of spice.