Jianne Carlo – Dark Chocolate Side of The Moon

Last year I was privileged to be part of a werewolf anthology featuring the fabulous Lynn Lorenz and Belinda McBride. That anthology is entitled Luck in Red, and one of the stories, Red Velvet Moon by Belinda McBride is actually up for book of the week at Whipped Cream – please take a moment and go and vote for this book – it deserves the win, if not for the feather scene alone!

Here’s the link: http://www.longandshortreviews.com/WC/index.htm

Blurb:

Werewolf Maximillian Lobos likes his women overripe, luscious and curvy, and spitting-fire passionate.

Prim and proper Candi Wagner is so not his type, yet when he discovers she wears chocolate body paint, his testosterone levels careen off the planet.

Trouble is Candi doesn’t understand what being claimed means, doesn’t get that weres mate for life, doesn’t believe weres even exist.

Lucky for Max she’s natural sub and he soon has her handled. Or does he?

Dark Chocolate Side of the Moon – excerpt:

Maximilian Julio Lobos knew before the brass bell hanging from the door of his family’s dry cleaning business dinged that the mysterious C. Wagner, the woman who dinged every one of his five wolf senses and then some, had entered the premises. Her spicy scent wrapped around his flesh, seeped into his pores, coursed through his arteries and veins. His heart pumped faster and the drum of lust battered his brain.

Six months. It had been six arduous months since she first appeared in Sleeping Dog, Texas. For one hundred and eighty-one days he’d been unable to focus on any other female. For four thousand, three hundred and forty-four hours, okay maybe fifty-two counting today, he’d fought the instinctive knowledge that prim and proper Ms. C. Wagner was his mate. A human mate. Couldn’t the fates have found him a wolf mate?

She cleared her throat.

Shifting his eyes from the Excel spreadsheet into which he’d been entering an adjusted five-year cash flow projection, Max studied the clean-cut features of the five foot-six inch slender woman who’s visage and porcelain complexion could’ve graced the cover of a L.L. Bean, J Crew, or Ralph Lauren catalog.

She was so not his type.

Max liked his females overripe, luscious and curvy, and spitting-fire passionate.

Not a single strand of C. Wagner’s perfect waist-length blonde locks dared stray from the confines of her high ponytail. She returned his stare without flinching, not an eyelash flickered, but her grip on the cloth bag she carried tightened, the flesh covering her long fingers paling at the knuckles.

He wanted to muss her up, get her wild and flustered, smear the pink lipstick off her mouth, rip the brown band out of her hair, tear the unisex white blouse apart, and have her panting and begging and kneeling in front of him.

“Good morning,” she said and the pink tip of her tongue wet her upper lip.

Max did a double take. Miss Prim-and-Proper swallowed a couple of times, and he glimpsed a thin sheen of sweat on her temples. She was nervous. Miss Nothing-fazes-me was fricking nervous.

“What can I do for you today?” Where can I do you today? How many times? How many positions? Doggie-style? Backed against the wall? Knees dangling from the counter?

“Um.” She licked her lips again and a powerful surge of greed consumed the few rational shreds left in his primitive brain. His cock strained the confines of the worn denim jeans he wore and blood raced to his cock. He needed to fuck so badly his fingernails lengthened portending his wolf transformation.

“I, um, I — my dress is stained.” She rushed the words out and a deep, rosy color rode her high cheekbones. She fumbled with the green-and-white bag she carried and a swath of scarlet spandex thudded onto the counter.

Entranced by the blush cascading down her slender neck and the rapid-fire pulse leaping in the center of her collarbone, Max had to force his gaze to the red fabric.

Jesus fricking H Christ. Max’s jaw dropped at the sight of the I-want-it-hard-and-fast spandex ruby slip of material that the term dress barely described. Thin spaghetti straps plunged to a v so deep her belly button would show, and the sheath wouldn’t hide a flaw, the fabric was so elastic.

A dark splotch the color of a muddy Texas creek covered the lower front of the dress.

Max’s nose quivered as he inhaled the aroma of rich, dark chocolate touched with a hint of spearmint. Another aroma, unfamiliar, but unmistakably male, hit his nose. Saliva coated his tongue and his testicles slammed into his pudendum. Some man had touched her, tried to claim her. Up until today he’d never scented another male on anything belonging to her.

Max battled for control, flexing his fingers and taking a deep breath before he growled, “What is it?”

“Chocolate.” She patted the side of her head and lo and behold thin wisps of golden hair coasted onto her cheek.

“What kind?”

“Does it matter?”

“I need to know the ingredients.” He rolled his shoulders, attempting to ease his tension and slow his rising temper. “If you want the stain removed.”

She bent her head and a swath of long brown lashes cast twin shadows on her pinkening skin. Fumbling in the cloth bag, she withdrew a long tube and placed it on the counter.

“Kama Sutra Edible Body Chocolate,” Max read the label aloud. “You wore this? Miss Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth iceberg wore edible body chocolate?”

“I’m not an iceberg,” she muttered. “And you’d know that if you ever bothered to start a conversation instead of scowling at me every time I enter this place. If there were another decent dry cleaner in town — believe me I wouldn’t come here with this. As it is, I almost drove to Houston, which is hundreds of miles away, just to avoid your disapproval. You’re always so smug and judgmental.”

“Smug and judgmental?” Max barked. “You’ve no idea.” He vaulted over the counter

She stumbled backwards. “What’re you doing?” she squealed as her spine met the far wall.

“Not half as much as we’re going to be doing real soon.” Max slapped his palms on the plastered brick. He widened his stance, caging in her head and feet, and jammed his pelvis to her body. “Feel that?” He ground his steel-hard boner over her mound. “That feels judgmental to you?”

“No,” she gasped. “I mean yes. I mean. Omigod. I don’t know what I mean.”

“Who did you hook up with?” He couldn’t erase the thought of some other man licking that chocolate off her pussy from his brain. “Who licked your pussy?”

Her eyes crossed as she shook her head and he caught the scent of her minty breath as her panting accelerated. The alpha in him took over. “This.” He cupped her sex. “This is mine. How dare you let some creep lick my pussy? Who ate your chocolate?”

“No one,” she whispered. Her pupils dilated almost to the size of dimes and flecks of gold dusted the ice blue of her irises. “I. Oh God.” She covered her face with her hands. “Why’re you doing this? You don’t even like me.”

~*~

When Max tried to pry Candi’s fingers off her face, she shook her head so hard and fast her ponytail loosened and her straight blonde hair sank down her back and over her chest.

I never thought a body could die from mortification. Please, God, make this a nightmare. Make me wake up in my own bed.

Max growled and the low rumble sounded so bestial to Candi that she separated her fingers to peek at him. His obsidian eyes glowed yellow in the centers. And the look on his face made her heartbeat surge. Desire? Max wanted her? No way. She dropped her hands and stared at him.

His finger separated her lips, brushing across her mouth; the room spun.

Her vertebrae tingled as if a hognose snake slithered up the slope of her back. Her lungs burned, and she inhaled and regretted the action immediately. His musk made her head swim, her sex cream, her nipples pucker and burn, and her skin prickle and flame.

Chagrin and lust mixed like oil and water, one floating on top the other and nixing dominant positions from one pulse beat to the next.

Max liked women like Juanita Lopez, who had hips and breasts.

So why was one of his hands between her legs, the other trailing down her neck, his fingers skating delicious tingles along the top of her breasts.

Let me die now, God.

Please open up a sinkhole right here and now.

The doorbell jangled.

Swallow me to China.

“Shit,” Max hissed. He removed the heel of his palm from her crotch, but not before rubbing her clit with his thumb. “I’ll deal with this. Button your blouse.”

What? Candi’s gaze dropped and she squeaked. Not only had he unbuttoned her shirt, he’d also unclipped her front-close bra. How? When?

Max spun around and jammed his hands onto his hips.

“Rosa,” he intoned as in walked Carnation Rosa, the town’s version of Annie Oakley in her sixties, who earned her nickname by shooting off the heads of three dozen bunches of carnations once a year at the county fair. Carnation Rosa acted as the unofficial leader of the gossip hub for Sleeping Dog, population 34,799, and she’d been the one who’d decreed Tres Lobos Dry Cleaning the only firm in town capable of removing the most obscure stain from a garment. The crinkles and creases lining her face and eyes all but disappeared as her brows climbed to her silver-streaked hairline and, when she smiled, Carnation Rosa displayed the dentures she so often forgot to wear.

If you are a merciful god, let me go back in time. Five minutes, that’s all I need. Five lousy minutes.

“Mighty fine day for a wall fuck.” Rosa always bellowed even when insisting her hearing was sharp as a wolf’s. “But then any day is a great day for a wall fuck. Used to be my favorite wham-bam. I like doggie style best. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. So, little Miss Prim, how long you been having the finest slice of cock in Goliad County?”

Title: Dark Chocolate Side of the Moon

Publisher: Passion in Print

Publisher Link: http://www.passioninprint.com/

Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=dark+chocolate+side+of+the+moon

Release date: 11/15/2010

ISBN#: 978-1-60820-247-8

ASIN#: B004C43HM8

Genre: Erotic contemporary paranormal: m/f

Format: eBook

Word Count: 30,060

Pages: 114

Hope you enjoy! Go vote for Belinda!

Cheers,

Jianne Carlo

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