ebook $4.99
ISBN: 9781885865700
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The ebook edition is also available at: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Kobo & AllRomanceEbooks.
A Touch of Steel: Erotic Tales of Warriors includes six, brand new, original stories by A.D.R. Forte that weave science-fiction and fantasy with the erotic power of soldiers, hunters, and fighters of all kinds.
In “Immortality” Captain Trey Danner is awed by the mysterious and captivating new Colonel on base. Her legendary prowess in battle is a source of much speculation and rumor among the soldiers and the more intimately he comes to know his Colonel, the more Danner wonders if the stories are true– if perhaps she really is an immortal, unable to fall in battle.
“Fireblood” tells the story of would-be dragonslayer Jyl and her traveling party–consisting of wizard Revendris, Princess Elystra, and Ned a blacksmith–as they hunt for a dragon. But as they all continue on their mission, Jyl comes to learn more about her own desires and about her true nature than she could have ever imagined.
In “Eternal”, a warrior queen reflects on the various betrayals leading up to her cursed existence–the betrayal of her slain kinsman by submitting to his killer to keep the peace between their tribes and the betrayal of her new lover and her own word when she could no longer abide the passion she felt for her one-time enemy.
“The Knowledge of Joy” tells the story of an injured and bitter rakshasi is taken in by a kindly human hunter and surprised to discover a life of safety, comfort, and pleasure.
And finally in “Solstara” an ancient earthbound warrior takes in a soldier fallen from the stars and discovers enough common ground to sustain them for a lifetime–or more.
About the author: ADR Forte writes a variety of short fiction. Her erotica and erotic fantasy appear in several anthologies including Like a Queen, Best Women’s Erotica, and collections from Black Lace. She lives in Texas.
And now a hot excerpt from the book:
Excerpt from the short story “The Knowledge of Joy”:
Up a stone-strewn path between high faces of rock, a clearing nestled in a recess beneath an overhang. Someone had found it many generations before and scraped a rough dwelling out of the rock, but it had sat long neglected, too distant from the central huts for even the most solitary. When she came of age, she’d adopted the small thatched-roof hut, weeded and cleaned, and hung her own skins and herbs from the rafters.
It was here she took refuge from her weakness now. None thought much of Thera keeping to herself at home while the blizzards raged. She was young and strong enough, and she made a point of trekking down often enough her absence couldn’t be remarked upon. Yet she felt his hurt like a thrown spear even as he obeyed her: Never speaking. Except with the way he looked at her. With the sudden tension that flowed through him when they touched, as they must for appearance’s sake. With all that he couldn’t help, no more than she.
But she was Wise, she reminded herself in the dark nights when she shivered beneath her furs. And the Wise stayed apart. Never mothers, never fathers.
Never lovers.
* * * *
Seasons turned again: frost to chill rain to the first tendrils of green. But this year Remal, Hunt Father, would no longer lead the hunters, running at the head of the pack, white hair flying behind like a swan’s wing. Remal could lay down his spear for a soft seat in his house beneath the trophy tusks and skins and teeth of many a year. Now that there was a new name spoken, a new spear to guide the others. One who led without asking to be followed.
She must go to the ceremony, for all must be present, especially the Wise. She must watch him kneel, bare-chested to receive his spear carved now with the symbols of the Father of the Hunt. Symbols she herself had carved under Salo’s needling instruction, willing her fingers not to tremble as she held the weapon.
She must watch him take it from Remal’s hand and press his forehead to the carved shaft in the ritual gesture of acceptance. Watch him stand and turn and know his gaze had found her where she lingered at the edge of the crowd, even as he hefted his spear and the shouts and cheers rose into a din so loud it thickened the air. Again she fled, willing the shadows to fold around her shoulders and swallow her until she gained the safety of her mountain.
There she sat with arms around her knees and stared at the waning moon and dimmed stars. Wishing to be as cold and distant as they.
Touched by nothing.
Desiring nothing.
* * * *
Sound stirred the darkness, pebbles slipping and crunching under a heavy tread. The moon was hidden behind the mountain’s back, and the cold had set in, chilling her limbs with heavy damp. But at the sound of footsteps, she jumped to her feet, pulse throbbing in her ears, and heat like ice running through her body.
She didn’t call warning or greeting. At the edge of the clearing, he stopped, a silent, solid figure painted half with starlight, half with night.
“Thera.” It wasn’t the boy who called her, or the man. It was the Hunt Father in all his indomitable strength, and so she took a deep breath, closed her eyes for an instant to find calm she didn’t have and answered.
“I am here.”
“I seek you.”
“Why?” and she heard her voice ripple like the earth when it woke and shifted and sent the world above crashing to its knees.
“You know why.”
“No,” she whispered, reaching blindly out for the support of the doorframe, seeking escape. Her fingertips brushed the edge, but he’d already crossed the clearing and was standing before her. She heard the scrape of his spear as he leaned it against the wall. Felt the heat of his touch on her arms.
Her own hands made the lie out of her denial as they moved to cup his elbows, not in the gesture of greeting, but with hunger. She felt hard curves of muscle under her palms as she slid them up his arms to his shoulders, an instant before he pulled her body to his with a sudden, forceful motion. The breath escaped her lungs, but no matter. He gave it back to her with his mouth hot on hers, then stole it again as his hands moved under the heavy skirt of fur to her naked thighs and buttocks.
Crushed between his body and the doorway, she had no escape. But she knew the truth. It was her own desire that held her there, closing her eyes to savor his warm touch between her legs, caressing her flesh to arousal. His fingers, wet with her juices, slid inside her and she moved against them. Opposite force to the motion of his hand, greedy for the pleasure of it.
His other hand pulled at the front of her tunic, dragging the cloth away to bare her breasts. His fingers caught her nipple, pinched, twisted, and she cried out. His mouth moved from her lips to her cheek to neck. Devouring, chaotic kisses meant to kindle lust. And how they did.
Grappling in the darkness, haste-clumsied fingers shed clothing. She felt the hard, smooth flesh of his erection press the flesh of her thighs, seeking entry. But he lifted her legs instead, wrapped her thighs around his waist. Instinctively she squeezed them tighter, dug her fingers into his arms, her heart leaping painfully. She’d prayed for the distance of the stars, but they weren’t cold and distant. They were restless, indecisive, brightening and dimming. Did they burn after all? If she got close enough would she discover them to be flame instead of ice?
She imagined she felt their light burning on her skin as he penetrated her, setting her entire body on fire with that one simple motion. That simple, ordinary connection that ordinary women took for granted every day of their lives. That she had forsworn for so long, thinking in her pride she was above ordinary women. She wasn’t.
She wanted, she needed this. Needed him. Though she had no right. Though it was wrong.
He groaned, grinding his hips against hers, hard flesh deep inside her softer resistance milking the pleasure from her. She was chilled, then hot. Sweat covered her skin, made it slippery against his, and she clung tighter to him. Pressed her lips to his neck, vulnerable, exquisite contrast to the hardness of his body. Felt her breasts heavy against his chest, nipples squeezed by the pressure of body against body into sweet, aching bliss.
His hands clenched her buttocks, tightening her even more around him. He thrust into her now in short, hard movements, that made her gasp and gasp. Dizzy, she closed her eyes, fighting to breathe, arching against those thrusts so that they made her even dizzier. Laughed with breathless amazement at herself, at him. Laughed with pure, simple happiness as her pleasure crested and her body clenched, released and clenched again. Pulsing around him like a star. And he filled her with his heat.
* * * *
He left with the night, leaving her dawn, regret and sweetness. For a long time she lay amongst furs still warm from his body and breathed in his scent on her body and her bed. When she rose, she did it slowly, lingering as long as she could between the languor of dalliance and the knowledge of duty.
What now? But she already knew. She would run, because she hadn’t the strength to do otherwise…
To read the rest of the story, download A Touch of Steel today!
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