Delicious Tease Day #40: Tessa Adams

Today I'd like to introduce you to my alter ego, Tessa Adams. When I first came up with the idea for a modern-day dragon shapeshifter series, my editor at NAL was really excited by the idea-- but she said that because it was so different than the other books I write as Tracy Wolff that she really wanted me to have a different name to go with it-- so Tessa Adams was born.

The first book in the Dragon's Heat series, Dark Embers, hits the shelves in July, an will be followed in January and September of 2011 by books 2 and 3-- currently titled Hidden Embers and Forbidden Embers, all of which take place in the New Mexico desert in the present day.

I had such a good time writing Dylan and Phoebe. This is my stab at the King/Pack Leader book that usually starts a paranormal series and Dylan is my dark, reluctant bad boy turned hero-- he's the second son who never thought he'd have to take responsibility for his people, but when his brother (the heir to the throne) dies, he is thrust into the position of being King, just as a deadly disease is threatening to destroy his entire clan forever. Phoebe is the kick-ass, brilliant, take-no-prisoners biochemist I teamed up with him to try and cure the disease.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the excerpt as much as I enjoyed writing it-- Dark Embers is one of my favorite books (that I've written) to date and I'm really hoping you guys like it as much. The winner for today's contest wins a Dark Embers ARC-- my editor is having them printed up this week and I'll have her get one in the mail as soon as they are done.

Blurb:

King Dylan MacLeod is one of the last pure-bred dragon shapeshifters in existence—and ruler of a dying race, the Dragonstar clan. It falls to him to protect his people—and their ancient magic. He has one more duty: to provide an heir.

Like all dragons, Dylan can only procreate with his destined mate—for whom he’s searched for five hundred years. His dark, rampant sexual appetite has earned him quite the reputation, all in the pursuit of his one true match.

But his search is delayed when a deadly disease sweeps through the Dragonstars, and Dylan must venture to the human world to find a cure. He tracks down renowned biochemist Phoebe Quillum, never imagining the beautiful scientist will be the mate he’s been seeking for centuries. But no sooner do they meet then Phoebe and Dylan are besieged by an obsessive, overpowering sexual desire.

Their passion turns to something truer—and they know in their souls and bodies that they’re in too deep to get out. And when Phoebe is kidnapped by Dylan’s oldest enemy, he must risk everything to reclaim the only woman he’s ever loved, or his clan will be wiped out forever.

Excerpt:

Dylan stepped back and watched Phoebe as she shivered with cold and arousal. A part of him wanted to quit the games, to just go to her and love her as he’d been doing all along. But another part wanted to give her this, wanted her to see yet another side of him—and enjoy it.
With a deep breath, he concentrated on shifting, not into dragon form, but into his other, more secret form. Few people knew he could do this—Gabe and Quinn, Shawn and Logan—as it was rare for dragons. But her question, What else can you do? hung in his mind. Made him want to show her just what he could do.
The shifting started—all pleasure and no pain this time, as his bones didn’t have to break, elongate, change. No, they simply dissolved as he turned from human to smoke. Seconds passed, a minute, as the change took place. He could hear Phoebe moving restlessly from one foot to the other, each shift in her weight causing a little ripple in the pool.

And then it was complete, his body gone. He could still feel in this form, could still think and smell and see and taste, though he had no skin. No mouth. Shifting into smoke was one of the rarest gifts and biggest mysteries his people possessed. But as he floated across the hot springs toward his lover—visible only in the soft gray curls he’d become—it was a gift he was intensely grateful for.
He started with her legs, winding himself around her like a snake—stroking, soothing, seducing her with a feather-light touch that had her gasping for air. He skimmed up to her hips, focused on a ticklish spot he’d found on her hip bone.
She giggled, but didn’t jerk away. And she kept her eyes closed, making him warm at the sign of trust.
Moving on, he circled her hips, wrapped himself in rings and caressed her from her waist to her upper thighs all at once. He dipped into her navel, circled the slight indention, softly, slowly, again and again until her stomach quivered and clenched.

He wanted to move lower, to brush against her clit, to slip inside her and feel what it was like to take her in this form, but it was too soon. She wasn’t ready. And more, he wanted her to know him—to see him as he was now—when he finally brought her to climax.
So he moved on reluctantly, though every cell in his strange, weightless body demanded that he dip in and taste her, smell her, feel her warm depths.
Deciding he wasn’t steady enough to caress her breasts yet—he would end up inside her the second he tasted her sweet, pink nipples—he started circling her again, then slowly inched his way up her back.
The scars were still there, harsh and ugly and enraging. He skimmed over them, covered them, stroked them all at the same time to show her once and for all that they didn’t matter to him. That they only made him want her more, these badges of courage she had received while trying to save someone she loved.

She gasped, tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead he gave them soothing caresses, glancing kisses, trailing fingertips.
He slipped up to her shoulders, kneaded the aching muscles even as he allowed himself to slide up the pale, soft skin of her neck. He teased her, taunted her, explored the hollows of her neck as he liked to do with his tongue, trailed delicate tendrils up her jaw, licked into her ear with a soft laugh.
She stiffened at the contact, let her head fall back as her nipples peaked. He stayed there for a moment, rimming the soft shell of her ear before sneaking behind to kiss the sensitive spot on her neck.
Phoebe moaned, trembled, and the scent of her arousal filled the room. He breathed it in, loving the vanilla smell of her, the sweet warmth that told him just how much she wanted him.
He lingered at her throat, behind her ear—it was one of his favorite spots, after all—but eventually he wanted more. Needed more. He worked his way through her glorious curls, blew just a little bit, and sent them streaming out behind her for his enjoyment.

He twisted around one curl, then another, in and out until he reached her scalp. He massaged it slowly in the circular motions she had so appreciated in the shower.
“Dylan, please.” Her voice was pained, her hands clenched into fists at her side, her hips canting forward as she searched for more contact, harder contact. He watched her for a moment as he continued to rub her head. But when she moaned—a breathy little expulsion of air that made his every molecule ache he gave in to temptation.
Dropping to her breasts, he stroked them all over, let himself curl over the tops while he split into numerous smoky tendrils that tenderly stroked the undersides, as well. Whispering an incantation, he hovered over her nipples and began to suck—the smoke pulling equally on both.

Her eyes flew open and she looked down at him, mouth open in shock. Her cheeks were pink with desire, her eyes glazed with passion. “Dylan?”
He couldn’t answer her—not so she would understand, anyway—so he used his insubstantial form to coil around her nipples, flicking the tips back and forth until she reached an unsteady hand out to touch him.
“Dylan?” she asked again, as her hand passed through the smoke. He froze, shocked at the pleasure he felt from her touch, astounded that she could turn him inside out even in this form.
He took one more firm pull on her nipples—firm enough that she gasped and arched her back—before floating up to her face. He stroked her beautiful cheeks, slid down the curve of her nose, toyed with her lower lip until her mouth parted. And then he darted inside, stroked the top and underside of her tongue, ran one curling, feather-light tendril against the roof of her mouth before darting out again.

As he moved away, she took a deep breath, then another and another. Her body was shaking, and sweat slipped down the valley between her breasts. He followed it, licking as he went.
Phoebe’s mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and desires and little shots of fear. She was so aroused that each breath she took trembled in her lungs, each move that Dylan made took her higher until all she could think of was him. All she could feel was him. Wrapped around her waist, sliding down her stomach, filling her mouth—he was everywhere and nowhere, and it was driving her absolutely wild.

She wanted to touch him, to feel his powerful body against hers. Yet the smoke—if it really was Dylan—was there. Teasing her, tempting her, taking her to the edge again and again.
She wanted him inside her, needed to feel his cock in her sex as much as she needed her next breath. But she didn’t want to give up the smoke, either, with its curling tendrils that could touch her in so many places at once.
Reaching out, she stroked a hand over the smoke, let it curl around her fingers and then brought it to her mouth. She blew on it, much as Dylan had blown in her ear, watched as it shimmered, drifted away, before returning to wrap itself more firmly around her hand.
She repeated the movement, blew a soft, steady stream of warm air along her hand from wrist to fingertip. Then opened her mouth and drew some of the sweet-smelling smoke inside. She sucked on it like she would a hard candy.
Once, twice, then again and again, until she was forced to take a breath. She opened her mouth, relinquished him and the smoke darted out. She was pleased to see that it was nowhere near as steady as it had been as it worked its way back down her body. Dylan might be magical, but she had a few tricks of her own.

The smugness stayed with her until Dylan darted between her legs and began to stroke. He moved up and down her slit, slipping inside a little more with each pass that he made. She gasped, felt her nipples bead. He dipped deeper, found her G-spot and began to rub.
It was strange—odd and arousing—to feel him inside her while her legs were still closed. Strange but powerful and incredibly arousing, the fit and feel of him very different from what she was used to.
He stroked deeper, filled her so that every part of her vagina was being touched and caressed at the same time. He started on her clit, too, circling it, flicking back and forth as her body tensed and jerked.
Orgasm loomed, burning hot and incredibly deep. She reached for it, gave herself over to it—to Dylan—then moaned as it roared through her like a freight train. Every molecule in her body exploded, lit up from the inside as unbelievable waves of pleasure rocked her. They started in her pussy and moved outward, growing larger with each pulse of satisfaction. She’d never felt anything like it, wasn’t sure she would survive it.

Blackness threatened, overwhelmed her, and she slid into the hot springs, her body still racked with aftershocks. She closed her eyes, then opened them to find Dylan towering over her, his eyes dragon black, his cock so large and full that she knew he had to be in pain.
Leaning forward, she pressed glancing kisses along his length. Rubbed her cheek against his silky hardness. Licked at his powerful head before slipping down and sucking his testicles into her mouth.
“Phoebe.” The word was barely distinguishable, all dark, dangerous growl, and she knew she’d pushed him to the limit.
Turning her head, she took him into her mouth, pulling his throbbing cock deep as her tongue continued to stroke up and down his hard length. Grabbing his ass to anchor herself, she pulled back slowly until only his large, purple head was between her lips. She sucked at it gently, flicked her tongue back and forth as he had done to her clit, before slipping inside the small hole to stroke him from the inside.

“Fuck!” His hands clenched in her hair, and then he was moving her back and forth, thrusting into her mouth with the strength and finesse of an alpha male who had been pushed too far.
But he’d pushed her just as far, and she wasn’t willing to make it easy on him. Her entire body was on fire, out of control, and that wild part inside of her—the one she hadn’t known existed before Dylan—demanded that she claim him as he had her.
Relaxing her mouth, she trailed her tongue along the bottom of his cock, teased the bundle of nerves on the bottom of the tip and then pulled away.

“Take me,” he growled, his hands tightening in her hair.
“My way,” she murmured, blowing warm air down the length of him.
“Phoebe.” This time her name was more plea than warning, and she burned with triumph. Then rewarded him with the slow, steady slide of her mouth along his full length. She took him in, all of him, even as he bumped the back of her throat, and began to suck.
She savored the taste of him. Musky, masculine, smoky and sweet, he was better than anything she’d ever had before, and she wanted to keep loving him forever.
Dylan watched Phoebe through eyes he knew had gone feral. The sight and smell and feel of her was almost more than he could bear; it was ratcheting him up higher and higher, until all he could think of was coming in her sweet, sexy mouth. But as he thrust—gently this time—between her fuchsia lips, he wanted it to last forever.

He watched as she took him, watched as he slid in and out. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, tangling his hands in her riotous curls. “Slow down. I’m going to come.”
She pulled back, looked at him with sultry eyes. “I want you to come.” She licked a drop of pre-ejaculate off his tip, and swallowed it with obvious enjoyment.
Shit, he was going to blow right here if he wasn’t careful. Phoebe must have sensed his dilemma, because she closed her lips over him again. Her tongue continued to torture him, sliding back and forth over him as she reached behind his balls and touched a spot so sensitive it shot fire down his spine.

It was too much—too much pleasure, too much tenderness, too much stimulus. He tried to pull away, to pull out. Tried to stop the orgasm that was about to whip through him.
But Phoebe wouldn’t let him. She dug her fingernails into his ass and pulled him tightly against her, slid his entire length down her throat. She hummed and the ensuing vibrations made a mockery of the little bit of control he had left. With a deep, tortured groan, he emptied himself into her mouth in an orgasm so all-consuming that, for long moments, he went deaf, dumb and blind.
And still she continued to stroke him, little flicks of her tongue and fingers that grounded him as nothing else could. That brought him down slowly, from a high so intense it had been like flying.
With a groan, he slid into the water beside her and pulled her into his lap. Mate or no mate, he wasn’t ready to let her go. Not by a long shot.

She dreamed again that night, of dragons flying with majestic wings. Of jewels. Of sex and smoke and silver stars. She was flying—with Dylan—through a night so beautiful that she could only gasp in wonder.
Until the clouds came and she spiraled down, down, down to a ground so unforgiving she could only cry in pain.
And then the claws came—wickedly curved and razor sharp, tearing at her. Ripping her to pieces. Destroying her one long swipe at a time.
She screamed as she felt the claws rent her skin.
Screamed as she felt the talons yank her apart.
Screamed and screamed and screamed until she awoke to Dylan’s black eyes and sheltering arms. He held her against him through the long, long night, but she didn’t sleep again.

Thanks for reading :) Leave a comment telling me what you think of my foray into paranormal romance for a chance to win an ARC of Dark Embers.
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