Hello smutty folks!
Well, anyone who knows me a little, or who has picked up one of my books, will realize that I have a thing for the men of mythology. I mean, not that I have a problem with plumbers or dentists or accountants, especially the sexy ones, but when I fantasize I like to envision those larger-than-life dudes. The Greek gods. The vampires. The selkies.
Ever read the myths pertaining to selkie folk? Perhaps. There are even a few interesting books and movies out there dealing with the topic. However, most that I’ve seen are distinctly YA. This confuses me because in reading the myths from Scotland and Ireland, well, let’s just say the whole selkie appeal is drenched in sexuality.
For those who don’t know, selkie folk are supposed to be related to the Fae in some way. They are shape shifters, and can assume the form of a seal in water. However, selkie men and women can remove their pelts and assume human form as well. The old myths are full of stories of mortals stumbling upon a discarded selkie skin on the beach.
Now here’s the fun part. If you find a selkie skin, that selkie is obliged to pleasure you. Selkies are reputed to be astounding, indefatigable lovers! In fact, they say if a mortal woman is unsatisfied with her love life, she can also cry 7 tears into the sea for a immortal selkie man. He will find her and love her as no mortal man can. BUT…and here’s the big but…the selkie will stay with you, unless he finds his skin. If he does, he will return to his beloved sea, never to be seen again.
There are countless tales of lovelorn human women and men, who stare out into the sea day after heartbreaking day, hoping for a glimpse of the selkie lover who abandoned them.
I made these myths the basis of my new novel The Selkie, an erotic paranormal set on the magical beaches of Orkney, Scotland. Read on for a little taste, and let me know if you might like to have a selkie lover of your own!
This was supposed to be her year. However, after losing her job and discovering her fiancé cheating, Maggie Collins has her doubts. When her grandmother dies, she hits rock bottom. Maggie travels to her grandmother’s home in Orkney, Scotland to sort through her gran’s things, only to discover the old woman has left her a seal pelt as her inheritance. She also learns that others are after the pelt.
To add to her frustration, Maggie’s dreams are filled with luscious images of a long-haired man, images that draw her to the magical beaches in Orkney. Although she’s lost her trust in men, this dream man inspires her with a lust she’s never known before.
Calan Kirk has also been dreaming. Dreaming of Maggie, the mortal woman who arouses him as no other woman ever has. Meeting her in the flesh when she arrives in Orkney is nothing short of spontaneous sexual combustion. But she is a human, and not to be trusted. He needs the seal pelt, not a red-haired temptress.
As a thief ransacks Maggie’s grandmother’s house, Maggie and Calan are thrust together. They must search for the animal skin, a mythical relic which once found, will either bring them together or rip them apart forever.
She was attempting to stand on her wobbly legs, only to fall back down on her bottom, when she heard the sound of splashing water. Thinking it was her seal, Maggie turned to look.
Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t the animal at all.
It was a man. He was rising out of the waves, walking toward her. She froze. He was nude, utterly nude, and was staring at her with overflowing intimacy. As if they’d had, God help her, relations.
And she realized, with sudden panic, they’d had! In her dreams. He was the seal-man from all her sex dreams.
Her first instinct was to call for help, but there was no one near. And then she realized with frightening awareness that she didn’t want any help anyway. Glued to her spot, she couldn’t help but drink him in.
He was beautiful, if unnervingly wet and naked. He had long, shiny, brown hair that hung down past his shoulders. His face could have belonged on an ad for expensive cologne, and he had a body to match. Sculpted shoulders gave way to arms corded in muscle. His defined chest was blanketed by a smattering of sparse, brown hair that led tantalizingly to his rock-hard abs.
Maggie held her breath as her gaze traveled lower on his body, taking in trim calves and thighs a quarterback would envy. And, she noted with simultaneous hunger and horror, his penis was the biggest she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. It was thick and long and glistening with the droplets of water that yet cascaded over his body. And it seemed to be reaching for her. She gulped, and forced herself to look back up at his face.
There was a faint glow about his skin, a shimmery aura. Dismissing it as a trick of the moonlight, she shook her head.
He was almost upon her, and his full lips were taut in a teasing grin. Maybe he was a surfer who’d lost not only his board, but his shorts in the waves. She knew she should be frantic, but wasn’t. There was something in his brown eyes that was so familiar, so soothing, even as they swept over her own body with lustful appreciation.
He stopped in front of her, and stood boldly, unashamed of his glorious nakedness. She managed to spit out one hushed word. “You.”
“You,” was his equally awed reply.