Interrupted has been revised and expanded to become the fourth novel in the
Lakeland Witches trilogy, published by Xcite. Ferris Ryder has always intrigued
me as a character, since he made his debut in Riding the Ether, book 2 of The
Lakeland Witches Trilogy, but even I have to admit, I was shocked when he
revealed his story to me. I hope you will find his tale as chilling and
sizzling and intriguing as I did when I wrote it.
from his memories or he can let all that he fears to remember destroy the
present and the Elemental Coven he has come to love. Has the mysterious Elaine
come into his life to be his guiding angel or will she tear his world, and that
of his coven family, apart?
though he were invisible. He heard things that way, saw things that others
missed. Fiori suspected that was part of his magic. However, at the moment, he
was completely and totally the centre of her
attention as his warm, wet tongue teased its way down and around the pucker
peaks and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. One splayed hand cupped and
fondled her tight pubic curls while the other worried open his fly. What he was
doing to her body was also a part of his magic and way more of a surprise,
considering the man’s unassuming nature, than his ability to blend in.
room, gently easing her out of a bad dream, back into the Waking World, and
into his arms. She didn’t know where he’d been before he came to her. The man
seldom slept — and him not even a ghost. He might have adjourned to the
library after the rest of the house had entered the Dream World, or perhaps he
had been in Skye’s bed sharing pleasure with her and Alice. He was generous
with his affections. But then he’d hardly fit in at Elemental Cottage if he
all? And yet he did, and she was glad that he came to her. ‘Sh! sh. It’s only a
dream, Fiori,’ he whispered. ‘Only a dream.’ He’d brought her a glass of water
from the bathroom and had returned with a soft white towel. While she drank as
though she had just traversed the desert, he gently wiped the perspiration from
her face and her shoulders. Then he took the glass away and moved the soft
terrycloth knap in slow lazy circles down her back and her ribs as she slid
into his arms, laying her head against his shoulder.
inside and up his back.
child if she would like a bedtime story. He asked it because he knew in a house
where sex magic was practiced, healing came in the form of passion, and she
nodded again because she knew that too.
His cock was already hard, but then she had noticed that it often was. In
those times when he allowed attention to be drawn to himself, in those times
when he made his presence known he neither attempted to hide his erection nor
did he attempt to flaunt it. It was the ease and the comfort of which he wore
his own masculinity that made him seem like a much larger man than he really
was. In spite of his chameleon nature, he was not shy by any means, and his
stamina and his finesse made him a welcome edition to the beds of all of the
Elemental witches and their consorts.
seeming unusually loud in the quiet room. He ran his hand down to aid her as
she worried his cock free. He was neither large nor small. Even his cock was
nothing unusual to draw attention to itself, and yet there was no one at
Elemental Cottage who didn’t relish the thought of Ferris between their legs,
of Ferris shifting and grinding as though his unassuming penis had a secret
magic all its own once properly sheathed in an appreciative pussy or mouth or
feel the ripples of lust rising up the vertebrae of his spine. For a second he
wrapped his hand around hers and shifted his hips. Then he pulled her fingers
free, kissing each one of them, running his tongue in ticklish strokes over the
tips, making her hips rock against the mattress. ‘I’m going to taste you now. I
can already smell how good you’ll be.’ With a wriggle of his arse and a shove
with his feet he shed his trousers as he crawled down between her thighs,
nudging her open with the smoothly shaven wedge of his jaw, clearing the way
with nose and lips, teeth and tongue. The humidity of his breath blew across
her clit, which rose up in anticipation.
pianist and she were his instrument. For an age he studied her, fingered her,
arranged her as though there were only one way, the best way to approach her
dark, heavy folds, and he would not partake until he knew exactly what would
bring all of her focus, all of her energy, all of her arousal to the very
centre of his attention. ‘And now –’ his words were little more than a rush of
breath ‘–I’ll give you what you need.’ He took her with his whole mouth,
hunched over her like a lion at his prey, the muscles of his shoulders flexed
tight, dusted and gilded in moonlight. And she felt the bloom of her arousal
like a bud swelling, bursting, opening. Then the bloom became an explosion
rising up from someplace suspended above the base of her spine. He held her
hips, held her steady with strength his body belied as she bucked against his
mouth, as she convulsed, as the moon moved in and out amid the undulation of
though his arousal, their arousal together had released something broader of
shoulder, deeper of chest, darker of memory and, as the moon disappeared, the
power of him rose like a shadow thick and all-consuming and, somehow, other
than himself. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Gooseflesh prickled over
her breasts, even as she rocked out her orgasm against his mouth.
reappeared and unassuming Ferris gave her clit on last hard tug with his lips
and then rose over her, positioning himself, easing her open with his knees and
hips and a single thrust and he was in deep. She was slick and ready for him,
gripping him as though she hadn’t just come, as though she were desperate for
him to take her. With arms much stronger than they looked, he lifted her legs
around his hips and positioned himself so that with each thrust he raked her
clit, and she could almost swear that in the stark relief of moonlight and
shadow his eyes were onyx black and yet bright, so bright. Even in the glow of
a nearly full moon, he road her in the light of an after image that made no
sense, and she was reminded that not even Ferris understood his own magic. The
closer they both came to orgasm the larger and heavier the after image grew.
And the larger the after image, the harder they strained for release. When
orgasm broke over them, so did the shadow, consuming them for the briefest of
moments and then receding behind their own efforts to recover themselves taking
with it Fiori’s urge to speak of it, to question it.
About K D Grace/Grace Marshall:
Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, and a proud member of The Brit Babes,
K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex,
well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what
would she write about?
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening,
she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her
husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other
long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how
quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She also enjoys martial arts,
reading, watching the birds and anything that gets her outdoors.
K D has erotica published with SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins
Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace,Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiationof Ms Holly, Fulfilling the
Contract, To Rome with Lust, and The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Witches trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet
Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available.
Muffy was born in Texas to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family “princess,” indulged and pampered. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and ‘came of age’ in France which forged her joie de vivre and love for books and writing. Married and living in the tropical paradise of SW Florida along the Gulf Coast, Muffy writes and enjoys life in the sun with her husband and wee Havanese pup, Burt.
Berglundon February 25, 2016
just brilliant and so damn good.
Kahele on December 17, 2015
is beginning to be one of my favorite authors.
M Watson on August 10, 2015
not put it down!
June 12, 2015
feel like I was reading Jane Austen or one of the Bronte sisters, if they had
written erotic romances. Wilson’s descriptive prose paints a scene like an
artist paints a landscape. The story itself is hauntingly beautiful
Cullis on June 9, 2015
Contemporary and Paranormal Romance Stories by
NYTimes, Amazon, International, and Award Winning Bestselling Authors
Gina Kincade and Naughty Nights Press
The Butterfly Collector by Muffy Wilson
~ Coming Soon ~
Apr 2016 ~ My
Life in the Sky A
Memoir of Lt. Col. Joe Lyle Jr
Muffy Wilson. [Muffy@MuffyWilson.com] All rights reserved.
Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission
from the author.