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From Renaissance Romp
An Ultra-Sensual Novella
By Tawny Taylor
Marlee Brooks doesn’t believe in fairy tales, especially after her most recent relationship dies a painful and unexpected death while she was vacationing in Europe with a girlfriend. But her call-it-like-she-sees-it attitude gets quite a jolt when she’s swept back in time and finds herself toe-to-toe with a real Renaissance man.
Fulke Berkeley, the Marquis of Berkeley, is tired of women falling at his feet. He wants a woman who will challenge him, even defy him. A woman with fire in her soul. But finding a woman like that isn’t easy in his small community, until he accepts a wager with friend, and Marlee Brooks steps into his life.
Can a modern day woman learn to appreciate the charms of a 17th century marquis? Or will their differences bring a quick and bitter end to their fairy tale?
"We men are the stronger sex. We protect and provide for the
She laughed. "Weaker sex, my ass. Where have you been
the last couple hundred years?"
"Your ass is exactly what needs my attention at present." He
tugged at the waist of her jeans and, suddenly so turned on she
could barely breathe, she squirmed. But his strength was much
greater than hers, and with only one hand he was able to keep her
in position as he continued struggling to pull down her pants. He
reached that hand around to her front, more than once rubbing her
vitals through her jeans.
He had to be doing that on purpose!
And her more sensitive parts were appreciating every touch,
progressively warming. She gritted her teeth in frustration. Her
own body was cheering for the other team!
Then she heard the zip of her jeans...and she practically
screamed...with glee. She braced herself for what would come
next, not exactly sure what to expect.
"You will show proper respect to me or suffer the
"Let me go, you controlling jerk. This game has gone too
He pulled her jeans down just enough to expose her unclad
ass, thanks to her lace thong.
She chuckled as he sucked in an audible breath.
"What is this?" he asked.
Her back tensed as he traced the lace from the small of her
back down between her ass cheeks.
Oh, if she were a cat, she'd be purring. "Don't tell me you've
never seen a thong," she mumbled, then, shaking away the heat
that was threatening to snuff out her ability to act rationally, she
said, "Let me up!"
"This is no thong."
"Last I checked it was."
He tugged on it, and it pulled against her folds, spiking her
body temp. "Although I can appreciate your attire in the privacy
of chambers, it is entirely unacceptable outside."
"I'll decide what is and is not acceptable, thank you."
He sighed. "It is because of my fear for your safety that I
must do this. You have not felt the bite of a thong in much too
I just did, and damn did it feel good.
Before she could speak, she heard the whistle of air, then a
slap. Then hot, stinging pain razored up her spine. She lurched,
but before she could get away, he struck her poor, sensitive
"Ouch! You bastard!"
The third blow was softer. And the fourth...that one could
hardly be called a strike. It was more a stroke.
And her...kitty...was purring.
White-hot anger burned with passion, fusing together into
something so dangerous and overwhelming, she couldn't think.
"You are exactly the kind of woman I have been searching
for. Intelligent and strong willed, if not a little impossible."
Kisses cooled the stinging skin on her bottom.
She struggled, but in a heartbeat all need to escape faded.
He traced the line of her thong with a finger while nibbling
her neck, and goosebumps popped up all over her body. Her back
tensed, tipping her ass up. Fury and need pounded through her
body in unison. Hot and sweet.
"How weary I have grown of women with no mind, no will,
no fire. But you, a glorious flame burns in your eyes, in your very
soul." His tongue tracing the side of her neck, leaving a cool,
tingly path, he slid a finger into her. "It stirs my own soul."
She gasped as scalding desire pierced her protective shield,
destroying her defenses. "Oh, yes! More!"
©2005 Tawny Taylor