Here is an short passage from The Order of the Dark Flames, Book 3. There is better writing by other authors but I didn't feel it would be appropriate for me to sample someone else's work. Given that this is a newbie thread, we'll have to go with the PG rated version.
Order of the Dark Flame
Posted by thantor3 on 07-12-2001 12:41 AM:
Allowing her vest to fall from her shoulders, she rose from the bed. Thantor's eyes swept the curve of her body and the fullness of her lips, as she reached up to release her hair, allowing it to cascade carelessly down her back. The candles picked up the scarlet highlights in her hair as she moved, a lithe, languorous feline. As their eyes met, she ran her hands down her body, tempting him, inviting him, enjoying the fierce hunger she saw before her. Sporadically, he would catch a tantalizing flash of her thigh, as her skirt whirled and floated. His fingers fretted over the guitar, goading her movements. Laughing, she refused to surrender, tormenting him, daring him to lead her deeper into the labyrinthine twists and turns of the music.
Always he would watch her, as if incapable of satiating an intense fascination, as if she were the ultimate mystery within the many universes. Together they began to explore a new realm, a realm of suspense and watchfulness unfolding in a glistening valley of spices. They moved through all the animal forms, prancing, crouching, floating, stalking. Guided by instinct alone, sinew against sinew, blood and bone, the reverberating tang of the guitar like a whip.
Unable to tolerate the distance between them, he rose up from the bed. She wanted to feel his hands on her, claiming her, possessing her. But he never touched her except to brush against her, catlike and playful. His scent reminded her of the forest, of arcadia bushes and knotty pine. As she moved against his golden-brown flesh, he would alternatively rouse her, then deprive her, as if breaking her to a will that was not his, not hers, but theirs. She would close her eyes in order to drift in the liquid cadence and each time she opened them he was looking at her, drinking her in. The sinuous music and the rawness of Thantor's barely restrained passion became as twin bonfires, with Georgi slowly melting between them, the heat and moist surrendering to the temptuous intoxication. At times the longing for release would almost begin to overwhelm her and he would slow, give her space, almost fade into the music. Then it would begin again...
The reflecting pools that were her eyes became so feverish, so incendiary, that he felt that with her eyes alone she was licking him all over like a dark flame, devouring him, offering him a pleasure he had never known. Her offering transported him and he felt his body arching as he moved against her, then away, then against her once more. Inhibitions fell from her like veils, her heated blood evaporating reticence and discretion to create a steamy pool of seduction and desire. She was a tempest of the erotic, undulating moments of shadow and flesh, curling around his body, both engulfing his movements and celebrating them. Her body smelled like the awakening sunset, her hair like zanzibar, her skin like cinnamon. She slid her hands down his thighs, caressing him. It was as if she burned him, the way he quivered under her touch.
Melded by their motion, the music, and the mystery that had drawn them together, their two bodies shared one pulse, ebbing and flowing through each crescendo. She slipped her thigh between his and looked up into his smoldering eyes, offering herself. He pulled her in to him, her breasts brushing against his chest. She could almost taste him, like the sea, in her mouth. She had never seen a man so abandoned, so oblivious of everything but the desire to take and be taken. They found a rhythm that suited them and followed recklessly. Thantor balanced on the knife-edge between the fluid excitement flowing through the whole of his body and the need for the next step, the next thrust, the next parry. As with all things, they took the warrior's portion, seizing each moment as if it were their last, sweltering on the burning spear of life that melded joy and pain into a defiant blaze against the void. Dancing on the edge of moans... going... going… go…
