When Cover Him With Darkness came out a couple of years ago, it blew all our minds. Now the sequel is available, and Janine Ashbless is guesting today to tell you about it…
The elevator pitch for my trilogy The Book of the Watchers is “Twilight meets The Da Vinci Code, but with fallen angels and much more sex.”
It’s a paranormal thriller of religious conspiracies and dangerous passion, in which my heroine Milja frees the immortal prisoner who has been guarded by her family for five thousand years, then finds out that he is the fallen angel Azazel and has to deal with the consequences. Everyone “good”—human and archangel—wants him recaptured, whilst her demon lover is trying to release all his comrades and rise up in a war against Heaven.
And I just want to add that I had SO MUCH FUN writing these books, and totally fell for both the main guys. Oh, and Uriel too, even though he’s creepy AF. I am such a slut as a writer…
“Milja, what the hell’s wrong with your eyes?”
“What?” I put my hand on his cheek, caught up in the marvelous clarity of my vision, and how handsome he was all tousle-haired from sleep.
“They’ve gone black. I mean, all black,” he whispered.
“All the better to see you with,” I laughed, but it was a nervous giggle and I dropped my gaze, self-conscious.
His left arm tightened forcefully around me, and I didn’t resist. Though the night was cold, he felt blazing hot—and very strong. He was holding me terribly close, as close as a lover, but I was also conscious of the gun in his other hand.
The Church takes a very hostile stance toward witches, of course.
I could feel his heartbeat against my own breast. I could feel…
“Christ give me strength. Milja.” He dropped me abruptly and turned away. “You should go back to sleep. I’ll…sit up for a while. Get the fire going. We don’t want the wolf to come back.”
“Yes,” I whispered. Falling to my knees, I crawled in under the tent flap. “The wolf,” I whispered to the lining of my sleeping bag. The blood was racing in my veins, waking parts of me that exertion had quelled until now.
I stuffed my hand down the inside of my thermal leggings to comfort myself.
This is not fair. Goddamn, it hurts.
I pictured Egan coming into the tent behind me and seeing me lying like this with the curve of my ass up, my thighs apart. The fantasy warmed me further. I could see his expression in my mind’s eye; that look of surrender as he gave in at last to his base instincts. He wouldn’t say anything, I thought; there’d be no point in speaking. He’d just pull down my tight grey leggings to reveal my two bare cheeks and everything he needed in the whole world right there in between them, and then he’d take hold of my hips and pull my ass up and back to sit in his lap. I was so juicy already that he’d slip inside me with no trouble at all, giving me exactly what I so desperately craved. My fantasy was so intense that I could almost feel the physicality of his bulk inside me. He’d hunch over me under the ridge of the tiny tent and thrust until he’d filled me to every last inch, and then flood my own wetness with his spill.
Or no—that was more Azazel’s way. Egan…Egan would flip me over so that he could look into my face as he pushed up between my open thighs. His hands would touch my skin like he was afraid he’d break me, and I’d writhe with impatience until the wet suck of my sex on his fingers drove away all doubts and made him lurch into action. He’d kiss me, his mouth oddly tentative even as he drove home into my depths, his eyes wide with helpless guilt, pleading mutely for absolution. I’d twine my arms and legs about him, pulling him closer, and he’d groan my name. I’d meet his mouth with mine and find him suddenly hot and ravenous, his kisses wild arrhythmic things through which we would both gasp for breath as his cock powered into me. And I’d forgive him everything—every hesitation, every betrayal—for the sake of those kisses and that beautiful, big, achingly-hard length thrusting, thrusting—
I came, alone, my hand trapped between my body and the tent floor. Fire flooded through my whole body. My whimper was a long-drawn-out sob of need and despair.
And then, even in the backwash of flames, I froze. Had he heard me? It was only a tent, and offered no sound insulation. Was he outside right now, listening?
Amazon ebook: http://hyperurl.co/cu1pe0
Amazon paperback: http://hyperurl.co/fuqprg