Keziah Hill lives in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney Australia where she dreams up erotic tales designed to make her readers squirm with desire.
Familiar Strangersby Keziah Hill
Calliope Marchant wants to rest and heal. A chance meeting with her first love Mitch Taylor, makes her think some sizzling sex is just what she needs. But she doesn’t count on falling for him. When Mitch sees Callie again, the pain of the past rears up, as well as the promise of a future he wants to grab. But can he let her know who he really is? Will she… See more details below
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Calliope Marchant wants to rest and heal. A chance meeting with her first love Mitch Taylor, makes her think some sizzling sex is just what she needs. But she doesn’t count on falling for him. When Mitch sees Callie again, the pain of the past rears up, as well as the promise of a future he wants to grab. But can he let her know who he really is? Will she participate in his unusual sexual needs?
- Keziah Hill
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Mitch ambled up her garden path with a toolbox in his hand and stopped to look at the roses. The sight of a six-foot-two, lean, muscled, intensely vital example of masculinity, dressed in paint-splattered, ripped jeans and a faded sweatshirt, squatting down to examine a crimson rugosa rose, was incongruous, fabulous, and more than a little dismaying. Particularly when he straightened, turned toward the house, and saw her through the doors. No way could she escape.
His slow, wide smile was exactly the same. When she was eighteen, it had given her a sucker punch in her gut; now that she was thirty-four, nothing had changed. The sensation was short and sharp, and then its warmth stole though her body. His grin still had the power to alter her body chemistry, even after all these years.
She could kill him. Or fuck him. Maybe both.
She moaned with a mixture of frustration and--she had to admit--want. Sixteen years had transformed Mitch from a beautiful beach boy full of fun and light into someone much more significant. Much darker and threatening. Gone were his sun bleached curls, which had always softened his sharp features. His hair was now cropped short and dark, giving no hint that he'd spent any time in the sun. He walked down the path as if he owned it and would let nothing or no one stand in his way. The look in his eyes, even from this distance, made her think he had more on his mind than fixing her window. She pushed down the feeling that he was coming for her. If he thought they'd start that up again, he was mistaken. So was her traitorous body.
A low hum pulsed through her bloodstream, and her skin prickled with the expectation of his touch. She movedon the couch, and the moisture between her legs shifted inside her, sending small shivers of arousal through her body. Arousal and yearning. A yearning she'd not experienced in years. To be held and encircled in strong, caring arms. Mitch had once held her just like that, or at least she'd thought he had. She'd been wrong.
She stood up and nearly spilled her tea in the process.
"Careful. You seem to be accident prone at the moment."
Some things never change. He still waltzes in without invitation.
He stood at the doorway, looking like a hungry wolf with breakfast in front of him. Would she allow herself to be eaten?
She gave herself a mental slap. Get that image out of your mind.
Easy to say, but the memory was hard to dislodge. Back when they were both eighteen, Mitch had insisted he needed to practice. She'd been more than willing to go along. And practice certainly did make perfect. Night after night, on the beach, in her bed, in the back of his car, his mouth sucked and licked her pussy, pushing her into orgasm after orgasm. He lapped at her as if her cunt provided the only sustenance he wanted or needed. In those moments, she'd felt worshiped and special. A feeling she'd never experienced since.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, starting off with hostility, hoping he'd get the message loud and clear. "I thought I said for you to keep out of my way."
"Your window needs fixing. And besides, I'm curious."
"You. I want to know what you've been doing the last sixteen years."
He shrugged. "Boredom, nostalgia, a gift for making trouble. Take your pick."
"Trouble. I'll pick that one. You do have a gift for it."
"But it was exciting."
She smiled despite herself. He was right about that. He might have broken her eighteen-year-old heart, but she'd never been more alive than she'd been that glorious summer. They'd been inseparable, driving up and down the coast, surfing, laughing, and fucking when and wherever they could. It was inevitable it would all come crashing down, but it was magic while it lasted.
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