By Lisabet Sarai
It would have been much faster to fly.
Alas, Cecily Harrowsmith—special
agent for Her Majesty the Queen, expert in the martial arts of three
continents, past mistress of princes, potentates and the occasional
prime minister—was afraid of flying. She despised herself for this
weakness, but not enough to board one of the Empire’s sleek,
viridium-powered airships, strap herself into her seat and hope for
the best.
Hence the current tedious journey.
Cecily peered out of the window of her carriage at the endless expanse of russet-coloured desert
stretching in all directions. The mere sight of all that sand was
enough to make her throat burn. She sipped her tepid tea, wondering
for the twentieth time why she’d accepted this bloody assignment.
***
Writing this book involved taking risks. I've observed how readers cling to their favorite genres. I'm breaking rules right and left with this novel. Will the market embrace my mash-up? Or will readers run away in droves, terrified of the unfamiliar?
Producing the same sort of stories, again and again, can be comfortable. It may help sales, too. To grow as authors, though, we have to leave safety behind. We must step out onto that high pinnacle of creativity and let go, defying the fear that we'll plummet ignominiously to the ground. We have to get over our fear of flying.
Rajasthani Moon is like nothing I've written before. Well, that's not strictly true. Like most of my books, it has plenty of erotic content. What I mean is that I've never felt so free as I did writing this book. I gave myself permission to follow my imagination, no matter how wild its suggestions. I found this difficult at first. The further I ventured out onto my self-constructed limb, though, the easier I found the process.
The result? Well, I'm pleased with it. I have no idea what other people will think. But I won't worry. That's out of my control.
And Cecily? She conquers her fear, too, eventually.
***
(Rated R)
The passenger compartment was about ten
feet long. Its walls were chest height. A canopy shaded one end,
including the brass and quartz crystal control panel. The other was
open to the sky, though the gas bag a dozen feet above them shielded
them from the most direct rays of the sun. She was not surprised to
discover that the floor was covered by multiple layers of
intricately-patterned carpets and strewn with fat, multi-hued
pillows. The Rajasthanis seemed to have little use for furniture.
Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”
Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.
Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.
A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.
“Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”
“Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.
Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.
His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.
Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”
Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.
Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.
A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.
“Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”
“Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.
Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.
His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.
***
Rajasthani Moon is available now from
Total-E-Bound, where you can download direct to your Kindle or other
e-reader. You can also buy it at Amazon, Amazon UK and All Romance Ebooks. Oh, and if you like things hot, you can find a more explicit excerpt (the book is rated five flames) at http://www.lisabetsarai.com/rajasthaniex.html.
I'll be doing a GoddessFish tour for the book from June 10 through the 21st, with different excerpts at every stop. The grand prize is $50 bookstore gift certificate. I'll also be choosing one person who comments at each stop to receive an ebook from my back list.
And speaking of prizes - if you leave a comment on this post today, you could win a $10 GC to your choice of Amazon, Total-E-Bound or ARE.
If you'd like to be kept informed about all my (many) contests, just join my Yahoo group, Lisabet's List.
Thanks for reading! Be sure to include your email address when you comment.
I'll be doing a GoddessFish tour for the book from June 10 through the 21st, with different excerpts at every stop. The grand prize is $50 bookstore gift certificate. I'll also be choosing one person who comments at each stop to receive an ebook from my back list.
And speaking of prizes - if you leave a comment on this post today, you could win a $10 GC to your choice of Amazon, Total-E-Bound or ARE.
If you'd like to be kept informed about all my (many) contests, just join my Yahoo group, Lisabet's List.
Thanks for reading! Be sure to include your email address when you comment.
Bio
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words
at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her
first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since
then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing
brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases,
a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic
romance – nearly fifty single author titles, plus dozens of short
stories in various erotic anthologies, including the Lambda winner
Where the Girls Are and the IPPIE Best Erotic Book of 2011, Carnal
Machines. Her gay scifi erotic romance Quarantine won a Rainbow
Awards 2012 Honorable Mention.
Lisabet has more degrees than anyone
would ever need, from prestigious educational institutions who would
no doubt be deeply embarrassed by her chosen genre. She has traveled
widely and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her indulgent
husband and two exceptional felines, where she pursues an alternative
career that is completely unrelated to her creative writing.
For more information about Lisabet and
her writing, visit her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her
blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com)
