Desires of the Winter Women: Extract 1

lust-in-winter-coverIt feels a bit like I’ve fallen off the face of the planet recently, and that I’ve neglected you a bit. For this you have my deepest apologies. But I have been busy (in between not being able to see, but that’s another story), and I’m delighted to say that my newest novella, “Desires of the Winter Women”, has just made its appearance on Amazon in the newest volume of the Lust paranormal erotica anthologies, Lust in Winter! As ever, a huge thank you to all the amazing authors I work with on these books.

This volume has all manner of lusty creatures in it, from frost giants and witches, to vampires and Santa’s hardworking adult wish-fulfilment elves. My own naughty creatures are ghost sisters – the Snow Woman and the Icicle Woman – who pit themselves against each other for the body and soul of a mortal, and for very different sexy reasons. And then there’s the Trickster, Master of the Mountains – and possibly the most hideoously erotic (or erotically hideous) creatures I’ve written about to date. He’s a seriously lusty beast, and going to him for help is quite an experience…if you dare! “Desires of the Winter Women” forms the first part of a trilogy, which I hope to release throughout the year, ending next winter – and for anyone who has already read it, you can probably guess why.

The story as a whole is split between the sweet eroticism of lovers and the downright filthy spiciness of the more dangerous elements of the story. So, as I’ve neglected you a bit, I’ve posted an extract below, at a very early point in the story, involving the two lovers, Glen and Tsurara (unbeknown to him the Icicle Woman). Tomorrow, I’ll post another short extract that contrasts sharply with this, so you can see what I mean…


Looking across the room at Tsurara in the early morning light, he grins to himself, as he leans against the doorway. He still finds himself amazed, even after the weeks they’ve spent together, that Tsurara is still here, wrapped in his burgundy dressing gown instead of her kimono, throwing logs on the fire, and making his heart sing with everything she does.

As she raises herself up from stoking the fire she has just kindled for him, his arms wrap around her middle, and she sinks back into his chest with a contented murmur. His lips glance across her ear and brush her cheek at her jawbone, as she tilts her neck to reveal more of her silken, pale flesh to his gaze. His desire for her is insatiable. It will never be sated as long as he lives. He pulls her tighter, harder, against him, his thick cock hard and needy against the small of her back.

“You’re mine, Tsurara. Always.” His kisses begin like feathers against her neck, and her little moans light a fire inside him, making his kisses deeper, longer, sucking at her skin until he expects to see a row of marks on her delicate flesh. But they don’t appear. Nuzzling at her neck, he’s glad. Half glad. He’d love to mark her. Claim her. Prove—even if it’s just to himself—that she’s his. At the back of his mind, that niggling thought is always there, yet he can’t bring himself to confront her with it: she appeared in his life from nowhere. What if, one day—?


He wraps himself around her, enfolding her in his body, absorbing her, at one with her. “What is?”

“You and me.” She turns in his arms, so the top of her hair brushes just under his chin and she looks up at him. He looks down into her violet eyes. Such unique pools of beauty. The love that shines back at him makes him burn with desire. “Always and forever. That’s what we are.”

The way she looks at him—eyes wide, her blue lips so strange yet so desirable to him, wet as she licks them with the tip of her tongue, her little body wrapped inside the giant fluffiness of his dressing gown—all of it makes him want her, there, in front of the fire that begins to roar in the hearth.

He kisses her collar bone as her head falls back, murmurs escaping her lips as his hand slips into the belt, releasing the dressing gown. He drops to his knees, wanting to worship every part of her. His hands mould her breasts, his thumbs peaking her nipples to points as his lips dance across the pale flesh of her torso, so pale it often seems translucent. It fascinates him: one day, he expects to see straight through her. Not that he believes in such things, magic and ghostly apparitions. But she, she is the magic of his dreams, and she came to save him. What is she, then? An ancient goddess, with the power to move his soul? He doesn’t believe in them, either. Only in holding onto what you love, and never letting go.

He grasps her waist, his large hands holding her naked form as his lips tug gently at the hair that rubs his face and tickles his cheeks. His tongue probes further, searches for her hard button, and her gasps float down to him as his hot tongue flicks in rapid motion at the clit that remains so cool, despite her juices running over it, and despite his tongue, inflamed with the heat of desire, drawing her arousal to the surface. It turns him on so much, feeling the coolness against his mouth. As his tongue flicks and laps at her, he feels her bend back in his hands, until she is arched backwards against the chair.

On his knees he worships her, his long, slow tongue strokes intermingled with his lips tugging at her clit as it swells, her pussy drenched and covering every part of her between her thighs, until his entire face is wet with her pleasure. The dressing gown falls off her until it hangs around her wrists like a heavy blanket, and he lays her down on it, his body between her thighs, in front of the flickering, swirling flames of the fire that glow as the logs crackle. It’s just perfect.

Raising her knees and pushing them outwards, he buries himself entirely between her legs. His tongue gathers up her juices, pooling them in his mouth. He explores her entrance, circling, then journeys further, lifting her by the buttocks until his tongue touches her tight little rosebud. She’s never yet let him, and he’s never forced the idea on her. But he wants to. He wants to push himself so hard and deep inside her that she begs him for more. He wants to fill her from behind while his fingers work her pussy. He wants to have everything she can give him. So, here, in the firelight, he worships her little rosebud, too, probing, soft and slow, his breath blowing over her entrance, her moans growing louder, permeating the air. He feels her give, just a little, and the tip of his tongue finds a place to worship. His own anus clenches in sympathetic arousal, wishing she would give him a sign that she wants him—all of him—in there. Her arousal responds, her moans growing louder and louder…

She’s not moaning. She’s squealing. He stops; everything stops. He grasps her in his arms and pulls her to him, whispering against the side of her face, over and over, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I love you.”

He almost can’t bring himself to look at her, and he blinks back tears so she can’t see. Does she really hate it that much? Does she hate him now? He holds her in front of him, smoothing her hair in frantic motions.

“What did I do?”

She gives a small smile of reassurance. He swallows hard as tears drop off the length of her eyelashes and land on her cheek. “It wasn’t you, my love. It was—it was the fire. It was burning me.”

He pulls her across the floor well away from the flames and holds her to him, wrapping the dressing gown back around her as best he can. “I’d never let anything happen to you. I want you with me always. I just—oh, just let me hold you.”

They sit together on the floor, entwined in each other for an age, his face buried in the beautiful, flowing length of her hair. When he finally surfaces from the aroma of violets, and prises his face away from hers, the sunlight catches his eye. For the first time, he notices what a beautiful day it is outside. He lifts her, and caries her to the window, setting her down in front of him, so he can wrap himself around her once more. Lots of snow has settled overnight, creating the illusion of glitter frosting. Nothing has broken the surface; everything is perfect once more. On days like this, he loves being here. Every day since she came into his life, he has loved being alive. They hold one another, just looking out of the window. Nothing more. Just lost in the joy of being together.

She stiffens in his arms.

“What’s the matter, Tsurara? Are you cold?” He laughs gently into her hair. “It’s not like you. Isn’t it me who’s supposed to grow stiff beneath your hands?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Just stares through the window, her gaze far off, as if watching a daydream. Or maybe a nightmare. As he leans to look her straight in the face, her eyes are sharp, watching something he can’t see.

“No. No, I’m fine.” She returns his gaze, smiling, but he’s not at all convinced by the curve of her lips. They don’t match the feeling behind her eyes. “I—thought—it doesn’t matter.”

He succumbs to the distraction of her kiss, knowing that’s exactly what it is. But he can’t help himself. Her kisses are beautiful: long and slow, and accompanied by tender fingers caressing his sac. It makes him want her over and over again.

“I-have-a-surprise-for-you-later.” Her words spill out between her kisses against the soft skin on his neck where it meets his collar bone, kisses that send tingles down his back and make him want to cum, there, on the spot.

“Mmm, that’s good…I’m sure I’ll…oh, yeah, kiss me there…love your surprise…oh.”

The cold air takes the place of her mouth, as she detaches herself from his body, grinning, leaving him desperate to grab her back and lift her up so he can push her against the wall and thrust himself into her as she wraps herself around him.

“I need to get it organised. So I need to get dressed. And I—” She kisses him again, and every part of him aches to touch her, explore her, fuck her. “—will see you later. For your surprise. After you’ve finished your work.”

As she floats away, disappearing in to the bedroom, his heart pounds, and something grabs it, squeezing hard. It’s pain—the pure, exquisite, unfettered pangs of lust.


Lust in Winter is available on Amazon for just 99p (or its equivalent) until the end of November, containing all four lusty novellas by Devi Ansevi, Emma Jaye, Katherine Nevitt and me. Just in case you fancy it…!

Happy reading!

Ina x


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