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About the author:
A.S. Peavey began writing erotica in a micro caption-based form (which you can check out on Tumblr), before branching to explore the world of longer form stories and novels. Peavey is excited by the opportunities offered to expand on those shorter stories, and grasp what tugs at the libido. Peavey lives along the Rocky Mountains, going out to hike and bike when time and the weather allow.
What inspired you to write your book?
I enjoy writing erotica, but I was having trouble finding my niche, until it occurred to me to add a little mystery. It seems like every genre I try to write in I add a mystery element, but for some reason it took a while to realize I could do that with erotica. I’ve never actually tried my hand at straight mystery, but it is one of my favorite genres to read. At the time I was reading a volume of Arsene Lupin (A gentleman burglar, and France’s answer to Sherlock Holmes) and it occurred to me that a similar character, one who uses seduction to commit her crimes, could really work.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Looking at this winery inspired a sense of romance. The building seemed straight out of an old movie. It was built of exposed wood, weathered and aged. Customers could be forgiven for expecting the employees to bring out a barrel at any moment and ask for volunteers to remove their shoes and crush grapes underfoot to produce juice for fermentation.
Being as close as it was to Paris, Louis knew the look was all for show. The building was carefully set up to remind visitors of those old movies. When they renovated the tasting room, they would make sure to replace the old boards with new old-looking boards. And, inside the wall, behind those old boards, the building would be fully insulated and hide numerous modern conveniences.
In fact, Louis had noticed on his drive a much more modern looking building in the distance, across the vineyards, where the wine would be processed in the least traditional, most efficient means possible.
But Louis was not here for the wine. He made a show of looking around the retired aging barrels, but he was here for a woman.
Louis spotted her holding a glass of wine, chatting with winemaker behind the bar.
This was not where he had expected to find the Wolf—he half expected that any information he had about the Wolf would turn out false—but it seemed that his information was correct, after all. That made Louis all the more leery.
All he had to go on was a blurry photo and a slightly better description. Even if those pointed to this woman, she might not be the world’s most wanted thief.
This woman was supposed to be the Wolf, the famous (if pseudonymous) thief who had allegedly just burgled the Louvre, a day before. Louis couldn’t say exactly what he expected the Wolf to do the day after a heist, but visiting a winery was nowhere near what he would have imagined.
Louis approached the bar and nodded to the winemaker who brought out a sheet listing the wines so Louis could decide what he wanted to taste, and take down notes.
“Merci,” Louis said. He looked over the list. “Do you, um, have any suggestions? I’m looking for a few wines for a party I’ll be hosting.”
Louis tried his level best to speak French but speak it poorly. The winemaker scowled at him, looking at him like an ignorant America (it was probably an act on her part to drive up sales to Americans who trusted in the brand of the snooty French).
The suspected Wolf leaned over and spoke English with a French accent.
“This one is highly recommended. If, that is, you like a nice dry red.”
“I see by the vintage that it’s been well aged.”
The Wolf smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ll try it.”
The Wolf turned to the winemaker and requested a tasting for Louis in French—though the winemaker had clearly understood Louis’ conversation with the Wolf.
And Louis had no trouble following the conversation between the Wolf and the winemaker. He could have jumped in at any time—and spoken like a native. Neither he nor the Wolf used their native accent, but both spoke like natives.
At least, Louis was born to a French mother and an English father, spending time in both countries, and yet he spoke perfectly like an American—he had trained his accents long and hard.
The Wolf, it was said, was an American. Or so went the rumors. They generally acknowledged, at least, that she wasn’t French. But Louis couldn’t pick out anything in her accent that said that she was anything but a native.
Louis was up against another expert.
He would enjoy taking her down.
Louis picked up his wine glass and took a sip. It was, well…it was what he expected. Maybe most Americans would smile and think it was great. The alcohol content was high, at least, like most American wines. Getting drunk could make up for many defects.
“You don’t like it,” the Wolf said.
Louis shook his head. “I hadn’t thought I would. It wasn’t a good year for this grape. Not around here.”
The Wolf nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re right, it was a bad year across the region. But the winemaker is a friend, and even at a cheap price it’s been hard to offload the bottles.”
“Ah. How charitable of you.”
“With your money.” The Wolf smiled. Louis could not help smiling back—even if weren’t seeking her trust.
“I know my wine, if not my French.”
“Also, the winemaker doesn’t bluff as well as you do.”
“I do so,” the winemaker said, now in English.
“You bluff well,” Louis said. “Just not well enough to convince me.”
The winemaker crossed her arms across her chest.
“Elodie. You bluff well, but…” the Wolf paused to ask his name with a look.
“Louis…” he provided.
“But Louis is correct,” the Wolf said. “Nice to meet you, Louis, I’m Margaux.”
“I’ll tell you what, Margaux. I’ll buy a bottle of that—it’s probably good for cooking—if you can find something that will actually be a hit at my party.”
‘Margaux’ had no trouble finding a wine for Louis, something he could appreciate and that his guests could enjoy.
He didn’t leave after that. They spent more time talking. Both of them made up the conversation, the facts of their lives, as they went along. They enjoyed the false intimacy enough that they went for dinner, a nice place nearby with great food and great wine. Margaux truly seemed to belong here. Maybe the Wolf actually had a residence nearby or some other connection with this town.
But that wasn’t the point. Louis wasn’t incredibly interested in what Margaux was doing in this place. What he cared about was her past, her history. He wanted to find some way to link her to at least some of the world’s most astounding burglaries.
And to nail her, he would need to get her to open up. He would need her to get talking. He needed her to trust him—and quickly. He couldn’t have the Wolf leave before he’d dug up evidence against. So he would let hormones convince Margaux to trust him.
In short, to nail her for the crimes, he would have to nail her in bed.
Every indication said that he would end up in bed with Margaux by the end of the evening. Dinner went well. And not because of the excellent food. Both were too busy talking with each other to notice the delicacies.
Frankly, Louis didn’t know if he was seducing Margaux, or if she was seducing him. Either way worked.
They ended up at Margaux’s hotel room around dusk—earlier than Louis would have expected.
But there was no reason not to believe that she—that either of them—weren’t fully enthralled with each other. Louis had suggested they go to his hotel—halfway to Paris. Margaux hadn’t wanted to delay their intercourse to drive that far.
Frankly, it seemed that they would have been arrested if they tried to drive all that way. Margaux might have stripped on the drive. And Louis definitely would have ended up swerving across the road while Margaux distracted him.
Margaux and Louis locked lips in the elevator but thankfully parted as they reached their floor—because another guest was waiting to go down to the lobby.
Then, after Margaux had her key in the door, they were kissing again. Granted, Margaux knew how to slip in the key in the most suggestive manner possible.
And when they were through the door, there was nothing holding them back. Margaux grabbed Louis’ shirt, untucked it before starting to pull it over his head. “I’ve been waiting to do that all day.”
“Well, since you started talking wine to me.”
“Shouldn’t we shut the door?”
Margaux looked over at the entrance, then giggled.
“Or not…” Louis grabbed the hem of Margaux’s shirt and started to pull it up over her head.
Margaux had to stop him. He could be topless with the door open, she wouldn’t be. But once she leaned over and pressed the door closed, she raised her arms so he could lift the shirt off, over her head. She hadn’t intended to give him the chance to remove her bra too, but he was quick.
And she was glad he did. She pressed her now naked chest into his. Louis moaned at the feeling, though he also let himself be pushed back by the gentle force exerted through her breasts, until he was pressed up against the wall of the entry hallway.
He didn’t mind the feeling of being smothered by Margaux.
He especially didn’t mind when she slowly kissed down his chest, one inch at a time, moving from side to side more than she moved down. But eventually she reached his belly. Louis expected Margaux to move back up when she hit the top of his pants, maybe to give him a chance to return those kisses, to explore her chest. Maybe she would demand his mouth on her.
Instead she unbuttoned his pants.
He hadn’t expected her to skip that far ahead. She had hardly even used her tongue on his skin, just the wetness of her lips.
But Margaux tugged down his trousers, down to his knees, so his cock popped out. Margaux drew back, acting as if she were surprised that it had suddenly appeared next to her. She appreciated how hard he was for her—she didn’t say that, but Louis could tell by the way she looked.
Then she moved closer in.
But she did not kiss his cock, or put in her mouth. She didn’t use her hands to stroke him. She practically ignored his hard-on. Except that she did have it pressed up against the side of her head as she kissed his legs. When she switched from one leg to the other, she kept contact with his cock the whole time.
Louis did not know what he thought about the sensation of her hair moving along his cock but he loved knowing that Margaux wanted to stay pressed up against his hard on.
He wanted more. Margaux had him moaning. But he wanted her mouth on his cock. And yet he knew he hadn’t remotely earned that yet. He couldn’t ask. She looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes, as if wanting to see if he would say anything.
But, beside from some words to get both their libidos started, and some kisses (only on the mouth), he hadn’t done anything for Margaux yet. He hadn’t earned the right to have his cock sucked. So if she wanted to give him a blow job, that was her prerogative, but not something he could request.
She didn’t end up with her mouth on his cock, not just yet. Instead she moved her kisses down his legs. In doing so, she had to remove her head from where it nestled against his cock. But she didn’t hesitate to lick her way down his legs, only pausing to push his pants further down.
When she was down to his knee, she turned to face his cock and blew it a kiss.
Louis moaned, as if he could feel that air kiss physically connect.
Margaux kept moving down until she reached his feet. She had to get Louis to lift up his foot in order to get him all the way out of his pants. At first, he didn’t have a clue what she wanted and didn’t know how to cooperate. But Margaux eventually got through his lust-addled senses.
Then she started moving back up his legs, kissing more—but now with more tongue licking him, or with more teeth, so he could feel her mouth pinching his skin.
She briefly took his cock into her mouth, pushing down as far as she could until the head was at her throat. But when she backed off, she took his cock completely out of his mouth, waiting only while he shuddered before she moved further up his body, and finally kissed him on the lips once again.
Now, Louis was sure, she would ask for him to return the favor. He was ready to kiss her chest—roughly and quickly. He would kiss her legs—briefly. But then he would open her legs and dive into her pussy.
He felt it coming as she wrapped her hands around his cock.
But Margaux had other ideas.
“Fuck me,” Margaux whispered into his ear as she raised herself back up to full height.
“Don’t you want me to…” Louis began. He hadn’t kissed her at all, or done anything to warm her up. He leaned in to nibble on her neck.
“No,” she said. She took his hand and ran it across her cunt. “Can’t you feel how horny I am?”
“Then fuck me,” she whispered. “Fuck me now.”
Louis kissed her on the lips. And then he pushed her, pushed her all the way to the opposite wall, pressed her there as he lifted one of her legs so he could find an easy, if awkward, entrance for his cock.
And she was wet. So fucking wet. Louis just needed to be inside her. Margaux was definitely the one seducing him. The Wolf, the world’s most famous burglar, was seducing him.
And he couldn’t care less.
Fuck, though. He felt like he wasn’t going to last long. Even though she could hardly move, positioned as she was, she knew how to entice his cock.
“Slower,” he said. He was doing everything he could to make sure Margaux enjoyed this, but he was too distracted.
“No,” Margaux said. “Faster. I want you to spill your come inside me. Now. Hurry. Come in my cunt.”
Despite those whispered words, Louis kept going, he kept himself from an immediate orgasm, he moved his hands on Margaux to encourage her bliss. But he did achieve orgasm before he wanted to. And, fortunately, Margaux reached her orgasm shortly after. Though she did not have it rack her body the same way as Louis’ pleasure. Not this, the first time.
Louis felt the need to collapse, but Margaux held him in her tight embrace, keeping him from falling over immediately. She waited as long as she could before she judged it was time to lead him over to the bed, having to throw back the freshly made bed covers before she could let him spill in.
“Will you be up for more soon?”
Louis nodded. “Soon. But if I take too long, you won’t go out looking for another man, would you?”
Margaux laughed. “No. You are a very fun man. I just wanted to get that out of the way quickly, so we could have more fun, so it could last nice and long, nice deliberate sex, next time.”
“What would you like to do in the meantime?” she asked.
“Talk,” Louis said. “Tell stories. Tell me…if it’s not too intimate, what is the rudest thing that’s ever been done to you?”
“It doesn’t even have to be true. Just a good story.”