My Language Trembles with Desire
Today’s erotic quote comes to us from France:
Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.
-Roland Barthes, literary critic and philosopher (1915-1980)
New release this weekend: The Billionaire’s Submission! I’m flipping 50 Shades of Gray on its head…because why can’t it be the woman rolling in the benjamins?
When Dr. Ethan Davy gets hired by drop-dead gorgeous billionaire Sophia Oliver, he is worried that she will discover why he was forced to leave his last research project. Because Ethan has a terrible, dark secret that nobody knows.
That nobody CAN know.
Excerpt:
Ethan had her pinned in a second, catching one arm as it reached up to push him away. His body pushed down hard against hers, and he saw her eyes widen as she felt his erection press again her stomach.
She had turned off the recorder.
Inside of himself Ethan was being torn by two warring parts of his mind. One part, the part he struggled to cling to, was trying with all of his might to regain control. The other part seethed inside of him, aroused, angered, impatient. Ethan was aware of all of the bodily sensations that were happening at that moment, but could not bring himself to control his own body.
Leaning over the billionaire, he lowered his mouth to her neck and pressed kisses onto her skin, sucking hard. He wanted to leave marks, wanted her to be his, wanted her to wake up with bruises as a reminder that she was his. His tongue traced the places on her neck that were already dark with blood underneath, burst capillaries that would take days to disappear from her skin. As a monster, he was satisfied that he had left his mark; as a man he was aghast at himself.
Then Sophia Oliver moaned, her legs coming up to tighten themselves around his waist, and Ethan’s arousal became uncontrollable. Growling with inhuman appetite, he pressed his mouth forcibly against hers, stifling her sound. He was shocked; shocked further, when she pressed back, biting at his lip hard enough to hurt. He drew back, his tongue tasting the coppery taste of blood on his lip.
The taste of his own blood.
His strong hands pulled Sophia’s red dress up, his teeth at her shoulder, bites that were hard enough to hurt but not quite pierce the skin. There was a part of him that was drawing back, trying to stop the violence, but it was not strong enough to overcome his lust. And then her moans, oh god, her moans. It was impossible to breathe, impossible to fight. He hoped that she would survive this, because he was not sure if he could stop himself now.
The dress bunching over her lean thighs, her soft skin. Ethan’s fingers drew up the fabric and slid underneath, letting his nails rake at her inner thigh. Then he stopped, his mind blank with desire.
She was not wearing any underwear. And–heaven help him, heaven help her and all of them–she was slick with desire.
