The stations in my area had what they called morning and afternoon matinees and late night horror themed shows. Many of them featured David Niven, Peter Cushing, Basil Rathbone and Richard Burton. There was something about those handsome talented men that reached down and struck a chord with me. (And while he wasn't actually British, I adored Errol Flynn ^_^)
As I got a bit older, my love of British actors (and those lovely accents) grew when I became a fan of the BBC series that were featured here as part of Masterpiece Theater. One of my favorite series shown there was The Duchess of Duke Street about a plucky little maid who rises to the top of her world to run a well known London hotel. The bittersweet love story between the lead character Louisa and and the aristocrat Charlie a/k/a Lord Hazlemere still touches my heart.
They were such a lovely couple but from two very different worlds that simply couldn't mesh and I think on some level that's partly what inspired my TEB release Sweet Medicine. What better way to show world colliding that by taking a stuffy British aristocrat and plunking him down in the middle of the 19th century American West and putting him at odds with a spunky American widow?
* * * *
Here she was, lying naked and trembling in the centre of his huge bed. Waiting for him, her glorious breasts rising and falling with each quick breath she took, her deep pink nipples pointing skyward. Her slender hips were turned slightly, her bent leg barely hiding the soft cluster of rich golden curls at the juncture of her thighs.
The look in Trevor's heavy-lidded eyes as he approached after setting the glasses down was like an aphrodisiac to Lucy and she felt a rush of heat deep within her. She squirmed and held out her hand. “Trevor.”
Trevor stayed where he was, his cotton trousers stretched to the limit by his rapidly expanding erection. He peeled off his shirt, tossing it to the floor then pulled a tapestry covered side chair to the foot of the bed. “I want you to do something for me, Lucy,” he said, his voice husky.
“Anything, if you'll come here,” she pleaded.
Trevor sat and pulled off his riding boots, tossing them in the corner, using all of his self control to keep from mounting Lucy and riding her like the wild beautiful creature that she was.
His cock was rigid and his balls beneath the shaft swelled and ached at the sight of her as she parted those creamy thighs ever so slightly. He moaned deep in his throat as the flickering lamp light reflected off the sheen of wetness on her thatch of golden feminine curls. He wanted to drink in her juice and slide into her soft wetness.
“Trevor, please,” she said her voice thick with need, her blue eyes slitted.
“In time, my love, but first you much touch yourself.” As he expected, she sat up, her blue eyes wide with disbelief.
“No. You touch me.”
Trevor licked his suddenly parched lips. Touch her? He wanted to possess her body and soul, devour her, lap at her until she ran dry. “I will, my love, but first, you must touch yourself.
Show me what you like so that I might please you.”
Lucy held out her hand. “Come here. I think you know exactly what to do.”
Trevor's eyes sparkled. “Are you afraid?” he teased. He chuckled when the deep blush crept over her cheeks. “Do it for me, Lucy. I want to watch you play with that sweet pussy.”
Lucy's pulse raced like mad. This was wicked. It was sinful. It was exciting beyond belief!
She closed her thighs and felt a faint twinge begin to take form. This was it, this was what she wanted. This was the same kind of grand, all-consuming passion that she’d dreamed of her entire life and she wanted to experience it with Trevor.
“If I do this,” she asked in a husky whisper. “Then what? What will you do?”
“If you do this,” he said carefully, shifting his weight in the chair. “I will ravish you the way no other man could. I'll fuck you until you beg me to stop.”
* * * *
Now imagine that dialogue being uttered by someone like Jeremy Irons, my inspiration for Trevor.