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About the author:
I have always enjoyed writing what might be considered romantic stories, all the way back to when I got in trouble for it in middle school and had my notes confiscated from my teachers and surrendered to the principal! As a writer, Godiva: Unbridled was so much fun, and I have lots of ideas for potential sequels. I’d love to continue this as a series if there are readers to follow along!
What inspired you to write your book?
I love the romantic idea of the Renaissance, and the popular culture ideas that surrounded Lady Godiva seemed a perfect place to “reinvent” that event in history. The fact that Peeping Tom is actually tangled up in this story made it even better, and the idea of him being something a lot different than what history portrays was very appealing!
Here is a short sample from the book:
As her dreams enveloped her, the softness of a grand bed comforted her aching body, filtered light streaming through silk spun curtains. The lady sat up, surveying her surroundings. The young man who had been with her in the field emerged from the shadows.
“You’ve awakened,” he said. “I was worried about you.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” she replied. “But I’m quite well now.”
“Here, drink this,” he said, bringing to her a fluted glass filled with amber liquid. “It’s honey water. It will revive your senses and hydrate you. After sleeping for so long, you must drink to replenish yourself.” He lowered himself to the bed, handing her the glass and she drank, watching him. He wore a fine shirt with real silver buttons, and leather breeches sewn with tiny, intricate stitches. His scent was warm and masculine, and she desired him immediately. Draining the glass, she dropped it to the carpet beside her and sat up in the bed.
“You’ve given me a potion of iniquity,” she breathed, and her eyes narrowed. Leaning forward, she crawled toward him across the bed. “An elixir that will cause me to do your every bidding!”
“No, no!” The young man scrambled away from her as she advanced, jumped to the floor to stand next to the bed. “It’s pure honey water, lady. I promise you, on my honor!”
“Ah, but what affect this honey has!” She had reached him now, put her hand on his stomach and wrapped her arm around his back, burying her face into the thick, warm leather of his belt. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a man next to me. Lay with me now?”
“I cannot,” the young man replied, but he didn’t move away. “Lady, you are in a compromised state.”
“I am quite well,” she replied. “You’ve made me well. Your kind hands. Your healing voice.” She reached up, slipped a silver button through its hole, then another, and another. Her fingers slipped inside his shirt, ran along the taut, smooth skin of his belly. The young man groaned.
“I am but a man,” he said. “It is hard to resist.”
“So don’t resist,” she replied, unbuckling his belt. At that, she paused, looked up from where she sat at the edge of the bed, him standing between her spread legs, she clad in only her linen shift. She reached for the bodice and pulled the satin bow, loosening the lattice tie. As he watched from above, she slipped the delicate sleeves from her shoulders, baring the swell of one breast, then the other. With a growl, he was on her, sliding her back onto the bed and covering her body with the weight of his, pressing powerfully against her. She bent one leg, catching the top of his boot with her foot and anchoring it there, arching upward against the hard swell in his breeches. His hand reached at her bodice, pushing it open widely, her breasts now loose and he caught one between his lips, sucking hard, then more gently, enclosing her entire nipple with his mouth. She drew up her garment with one hand, wondering if he could feel that she wore nothing beneath it, and took great pleasure as she rubbed herself wetly against the rough leather, along the swelling hardness beneath. He thrust against her slowly, tortuously, then moved away from her breasts and up to her face where he kissed her cheeks almost frantically, then caught her mouth in a hungry kiss. She reached to his belt, longing to feel him against her, inside her, but she couldn’t unlace the breeches beneath the buckle. She moaned, desperate. He seemed unaware of her plight to release his bulging member so that he might plunge it within her and he continued to kiss her mouth, her neck. The moans became louder, more panicked as her desire rose, frustrated in frantic anticipation. Again she moaned, scraped herself against him, almost in tears, almost out of breath—
“My lady,” a gentle voice became clear and she heard her own whimpering, felt the cold sweat that covered her body. She opened her eyes, saw the same gentle face that had stared at her before, as she lay in the grass. She gasped, sitting upright…