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About the author:
Lily Juwette loves short-form romantic erotica about sexy, beautiful elves and mysterious, shapeshifting dragons. She lives on the U.S. West Coast with her feline companion. Although she has never met an elf or visited Faerie, she would very much like to!
What inspired you to write your book?
I read some other elf erotica that I very much enjoyed, but it didn’t quite hit the fantasy spot that I was looking for. So I wrote my own.
Here is a short sample from the book:
The stag turned, leaving the clearing for a path under the trees. Compelled by some mysterious need, I pursued him. The path was open at first, trees spaced wide apart, the ground flat. Slowly the trees grew closer together, with dark thickets rising between them, and the ground leveled upward. The moon disappeared behind the dense canopy, but a glint of the stag’s white coat appeared at intervals in the murk. I followed, desperate to catch the white stag. The path bent and twisted back, and finally I came to a dead end in a thicket. Turning to retrace my steps, I discovered a thicket blocked the path behind me.
I made a noise, startled by the disappearance of the path back. That couldn’t be right. I must have gotten turned around in the dark. I slowly spun around.
Bright moonlight poured through the canopy. Where there had been nothing before, a naked man now stood. He was tall and lean, with pearl-pale skin and a long braid of golden hair that hung over his chest to his waist. A fine silver chain looped around his hips, tangling in the golden hair that led from his navel to his groin. I stared wildly about – the thicket circled us.
He said something to me in a strange language, and my gaze darted to his face. He smiled at me, white teeth gleaming. Looking past the high cheekbones, I saw his ears, glittering with a line of silver hoops. Then I knew I was dreaming. His ears rose in sharp points. An elf. A dream.
I smiled back at him, my pulse quickening. My dreams were my own.
Coming close to me, he reached out a finger that glowed with faint bluish light. He touched my mouth and then both ears. I tingled where he’d touched me, and for absolutely no reason my nipples hardened.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Judith,” I said immediately. I hated being called Judy.
“Judith,” he repeated softly. He stroked my cheek, his hand coming to rest below my chin. He tilted my face up and touched his lips to mine.
We kissed, gently, slowly, tasting each other. For long moments we did nothing but kiss. Then he gently felt my lips with his tongue, running his tongue across them, and with luxurious lack of hurry he delicately probed between my lips.
I wound my arms around the silken skin of his neck and pressed against his chest. He laughed, a silvery peal, and pulled me up into his arms. He held me, one arm beneath my hips and the other circling my back, and continued to slowly kiss me. And kiss me, and kiss me, and kiss me. I could hear my blood pounding, hot blood pouring though my veins from my heart to my organs, and back again.