Good morning snoggers! I’ve been having a lovely time reading all the other snogs today – make sure you go and have a look over at Victoria Blisse’s place.
After two weeks with a cold, I have completely lost my sense of smell – something I’d taken for granted all my life until now.
I am lost without it – it plays a deep and important role in my daily life and especially my chosen genre of writing… I’m trying to write some sizzling last scenes for my new novel but finding it pretty hard – that’s why in this Snog, I’m paying tribute to this most sensual of senses by sharing part of my story from the Dead Sexy anthology. My whole tale, I Am The Moon, is based on scent and how it elicits a feral arousal from the leading lady… (please forgive the missing snog here – it does happen later though I promise!)
I Am The moon – a little teaser…
I sprawl over the hide, spreading my fingers and sliding them through the silky fibres. I start with the deerskin, my eyes fixed on the wolf and bear just in sight. Being a vegetarian makes my new fetish particularly troublesome.
Every day for the last fortnight I’ve come into the museum half an hour before closing and rolled about in the natural history section. It is far away from the main door where the tired day-trippers and bus tours are now being herded.
My mouth waters as I leave the deer and crawl to the wolfskin. I lower my body forward in a snakelike motion and nuzzle my nose deep into the fur. At first touch, it feels wiry and tough, but go deeper and you find the softest, safest place. Through the layers of museum dust there is still the faint musk of a feral beast. It is what I am here for. That scent. It is strong and male and wild. I rake my nails through the fibres and release the powerful pheromones. My body responds with a sweet quickening in my panties and I pull the sides of the pelt and roll myself in it.
I venture a hand down towards my building want but something makes me glance around the room. Silence. The hairs on my neck stand to attention as the air turns thick and static. From nowhere a hand grabs me by the scruff of my neck and hauls me out of my cloak. I feel weak and hysterical and ferociously turned on at being caught.
‘Goodness,’ I purr, ‘no need to be so … forceful.’
The security guard stares through me as if he’s seen it all before. I hold on to his arm as he marches me though the animal room, tripping in my heels and wriggling about as I try to force my rumpled skirt down over my bum.
I thought maybe my shenanigans could easily be mistaken for some kind of medical complaint – an old- fashioned fainting fit at being surrounded by such terrifying beasts. But I sense that this man knows exactly what I’ve been up to. My skin starts to prickle with heat and arousal. I notice the thick arm clenches me tighter and the force of his muscles sliding beneath his shirt makes me tremble. Feigning fear, I pretend to grapple his grip from me but only enough to peel back the unbuttoned cuff of his pristine white shirt.
Oh my God. Curls and tufts of thick black hair spring out and I practically squeal in delight. I clench my thighs together as warmth floods my pussy at the sight. I try to bury my nose into his skin but he pulls me into him, forearm tight up under my arm, around my chest, above the breasts, and up to my neck. Perfect. I struggle a little more and he squeezes tighter.
‘You are barred,’ he growls into my ear. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed your little penchant for our furs.’
The exit is fast approaching and my nipples start to peak. I can’t break free from him. Not yet. ‘Wait, stop!’ I gasp. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh yes you do.’