Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences Is the story about a young woman who meets a young, rising black opera star post-symphony at an elegant reception held in one of the symphony benefactors mansions in San Francisco.
A greeting, a touch, a shared breath. Their worlds collide and ignite in an erotic explosion of volcanic proportions that neither could resist. How about a bit of a blurb and a tasty teaser?
Enjoy ~ ☼ღஜ ﾚo√乇 ¸.☆¨¯`*.✿.*˜"*° ♥
SHE wore a flowing, form fitted white spaghetti strapped gown that cascaded in tumbled silken folds to her abdomen and revealed her breath in the soft rise of her alabaster breasts. Her eyes reflected an emerald depth with gold flecks that edged to hazel and were framed by neat, arched brows that narrowed to her temples where her heartbeat announced the rhythm of her life. Her only adornment was a starkly white gardenia nestled in the curves of her auburn. The heavy floral fragrance of the corsage announced her arrival as she glided elegantly to her aisle and settled, like a dove, into her center seat. She was alone…but not for long.
Would she regret her indulgence?
HE was a towering, self-assured giant of a black man, chest broad and arms outstretched in opulent black leather. His intense black eyes locked irresistibly onto her and declared his hunger. The opera house erupted with his full bass-baritone harmony. His musical seduction began, and his hypnotic gaze was met by her eager response as she answered his desire with a blush.
But, was his desire enough?
THEY spent an insatiable night together in Room 457 of the Historic Whitcomb Hotel locked in a magnetic embrace riding moonbeams of passion and ribbons of desire that wove them irretrievably together in ways that only the future would disclose—a future neither of them ever anticipated. Would the secrets of the past, of that one night, prove too much to bear as the future unfolds the truth and the depths of her desperate need?
Would the life and death struggle she faced overshadow the seeds of love planted a decade earlier?
The orchestra warmed up in a disconnected, faltering collection of notes, strings and horns as the wealthy patrons filed into the theatre and were settled. She wore a flowing yet form fitted white spaghetti strapped gown with a backline to the small of her back above the well-rounded cheeks of her ass. The cascading neckline tumbled in silken folds to her abdomen which revealed her breath in the soft rise of her alabaster breasts.
She was of medium height with an envious rubenesque shape most men admired: long, shapely legs nipped tightly at the ankle tapering to narrow, small demi-feet elegantly adorned in satin heeled slippers with scarlet, well-pedicured peek-a-boo toes, full breasted bosom with pert erect nipples stretched against the fabric of her gown, round hips that accentuated a narrow waist and a lovely pleasing back that joined all her sumptuous qualities. Her eyes reflected an emerald depth with gold flecks that edged to hazel and were framed by neat, arched brows that narrowed to her temples where her heartbeat announced the rhythm of her life. Her rounded cheekbones accentuated the graceful curve of her jaw line as it narrowed to a slightly dimpled chin below heart-shaped ruby lips. Her only adornment was a starkly white gardenia nestled in the curves of her auburn curls that caressed the pale white opaque flesh of her face. The heavy floral fragrance of the corsage announced her arrival. She glided elegantly to her aisle and settled, like a dove, into her center seat. She was alone.
The house lights dimmed yet she glowed, demurely, in the white gown as if she were unmistakably the main attraction.
She stared as he walked onstage: a towering, self-assured giant of a black man, arms outstretched in black opulent leather to embrace the audience, she felt to embrace her. His piercing gaze locked irresistibly onto her, in all her radiant purity. His intense black eyes seemed to declare his hunger.
The opera house erupted with his full bass-baritone harmony. He sang, it seemed to Jordan, to no one but her as she smiled quite involuntarily. Each throaty, reverberating note he released strummed every nerve to her very foundation. His musical seduction began, and would surely end she thought, with her in his outstretched arms.
Her petulant feminine petals nestled in the protective mound where her thighs joined. They slowly filled with her eager response and unfolded the protection of the essential pearl of her existence as she answered his desire with a blush.
She sat through the entire performance tethered to his gaze. The magnetism she could not resist overtook her fully and her responses were involuntary yet welcome. She felt his gaze through her gown caress her, push her, tease her and excite her with every deep vibrato he released into the hall.
She was, therefore, completely surprised when the lights raised and the fluid embrace of his voice was gradually replaced by the swelling bustle of movement from the exiting audience. She looked to her left and right, then up to the stage beautifully shrouded by long red opulent velvet curtains separating her from the object of the gathered passion in her belly.
Her reverie broken, she returned to the moment at hand. As she rose, the romantic trance invoked by his voice broke, the hold eased, and dropped shard by shard from her body so that she could move. She gathered her wits, shook off the spell and seemed to float in the afterglow with the others to the atrium. She exited the main entrance to the broad threshold above the street below.
She took a few steps outside and shocked by the damp San Francisco night, drew her wrap ever tighter to her heaving breast, her nipples still erect from the seduction of the opera star. She paused a moment, enjoyed the remains of her trance, and proceeded down the steps to hail a cab.
The after symphony reception was held at the home of one of San Francisco’s most prominent elite, a huge supporter and member of the Symphony Board of Directors, Drake Morrison. Drake and his wife Amelia were friends of Jordan’s parents who were absent because of a holiday in the Orient. Jordan’s parents were regular supporters of the Symphony and met the Morrisons frequently during intermission on most opening nights for a glass of champagne. She had been invited as a distraction from her solitude to join them on opening night at the reception in their home. She agreed to attend eagerly as she often attended the symphony with her Mother when her Father was unable.
She felt her low-belly tighten; her heart pounded and her palms tingled with perspiration in anticipation. The main opera lead and cast always came to the receptions. The non-profit organization relied upon their attendance to boost donations so she knew she would see him here and she wondered if he would even recognize her or if the reverie of connection had been hers alone.
When he entered with his entourage, he towered over everyone with his black elegance. He was beautiful, a stunning black onyx statue carved to magnificent perfection. When she saw him, only feet away, she staggered slightly as he turned to her with an outstretched hand in greeting, eyes locked in a magnetic embrace. She lost her breath and her heart in one moment as she touched his fingertips with hers.
He clasped her hand with the both of his and pulled her close to his body with a knowing smile curled on the curve of his chiseled jaw line. She felt his heat, was hypnotized by his aroma. She knew then that he remembered her in the audience; he had sung to her, he had sent his words in musical notes on foils to surround her, lift and seduce her.
The moment was suspended when he was directed to further introductions. He bowed ever so slightly with his departure and barely whispered, a bientot, mem’selle, his breath searing her neckline. She weakened in his presence and felt ill-balanced on a passionate precipice as he moved away. Their arms outstretched unwilling to be parted, her hand slid from his as their fingertips relinquished an electric hold.
“A bientot, mem’selle,” he had said. She hung on every word with rapt expectation for their next meeting as he moved into the crowd of admirers.
She watched as he worked the room, seducing male and female alike with his charisma and brilliance. He was a master in the simple ministration of his charm. He spoke with confidence, smiled at nonsensical nervous banter and made everyone most relaxed in his presence with an effortless touch.
The night edged on and she resigned she was like all the others, seduced by the sheer presence of the man. She sought out the Morrisons and bid them a grateful goodnight. She went into the library where her wrap was hung. A manly black hand extended and took it from her grip and as she spun, he curled her into his embrace as well as the shawl.
“My room key at the Hotel Whitcomb. The town car service I called to take you there is waiting outside. Room 457. Have I presumed too much?” as he pressed himself to her body and the key card into her hand. The low melodious tone of his voice melted any thought of resistance.
“I, ah…No, you have not presumed beyond expectation.” She kept her voice low in spite of their momentary privacy. “The Morrisons are long time friends of my parents who don’t yet consider me a grown woman.” She smiled into his down-turned eyes and smelled his heat. “I thank you for your discretion.”
He ran his fingertips from the wrap on her shoulder down the inside of her arm to the soft swell of her breast and lingered. His fingers caressed her naked flesh under her arm above the cut on the satin of her gown.
Her knees buckled under the weight of her desire and he caught her as she fell into his full embrace.
“Oh, God,” she breathlessly gasped and looked up into his dark eyes. “Do all women respond to you like this?”
“You are not all women."
Sensual, passionate, timeless.... Muffy Wilson makes the reader feel as though he/she is in the room with all the characters. This lovingly written story of love, family and healing is so well told, you will find it hard to put down. Your heart will long for more and you wants to continue reading. Reading it out-loud with my partner makes it more real than reading in silence. It is a story of love, sacrifice and transcendence - enough to mend a broken heart. I highly recommend this book.
This is an erotica like no erotica I’ve ever read before. The book is written with lots of metaphorically sensuous language, which is in itself an erotic experience. The love story of Jordan and Mason, their two separate families and the price of coming together, gave this erotica another unusual twist. There’s heat, passion, love and strong family commitment. Enjoy!
This book is a wonderful characterization of love between strangers, a timeless romantic expression that brings all lovers to the same destiny. This is the story of struggle, the telling of a long kept secret, the humbling sublimation of asking for help, the private struggles of a man torn by love and pained by loss. It is the story of how children can knit broken lives together with love and the ancient, precocious innocence that only children possess. It is the story of growth, love, passion and submission.
It is a story of the struggle between love and acceptance with a poetic elegance similar to that of Jane Austen. And I loved it from the dedication to the final page.
Muffy Wilson’s eloquent prose in her newest book, Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences, is a milestone in romance novels. She weaves a unique plot that will keep your interest page after page. Jordan is the mother of a daughter, Lily, who is in very ill. When her former lover brings a new dimension to the story, you will plead with the author to reconcile their love. I kept asking the author as I read, will Lily’s innocence bring Jordan and her lover back to the love they once enjoyed? You will find how Lily, both with her illness and innocence can spark the flames to refuel the passion of love from the past. Muffy’s descriptions and imagery goes beyond the realm of prose to poetry. The dialogue is outstandingly believable. When I read scenes of interaction in her book, I felt I was in the room with the characters.
You will love this story and the amazing talent of Muffy Wilson.
I give 5 Stars to Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences.
Muffy asked me to give this book a critical reading pre-release, and I was pleased to find it is a book with a full plot and a range of realistic characters. Romantic, yes; sexy, yes; but so much more. A book you can get your teeth into.
|Yellow Silk Dreams Publishing
Muffy, author of erotic, romantic stories about love, sex, hope and passion, was born in San Antonio, Texas, to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family "princess," indulged and pampered. She adored her older brothers, following them everywhere and was surrounded by love, stimulation, and pets. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. The family lived in most points between Alaska and France. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and came of age in France.
Returning from France with her family, Muffy finished high school in Northern California and attended the University of California, Davis, and majored in Business Management. Muffy entered the work force, independent with a fierce work ethic, and retired at 39 from IBM as a Mid-West Regional Director in the Real Estate and Construction Division. She and her husband moved to a small Island in northern Wisconsin where they owned a historic tavern, restaurant and resort business which they since have sold. They now live a charmed life by the water in SW Florida. Muffy pretends to be a serious real estate business person but, in real life, indulges her private interest in writing sexy short stories and sensual literotica ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion.
Secret Cravings Publishing, Oysters & Chocolate, Decadent Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Yellow Silk Dreams Publishing
Cheerleaders in Heat ~ August 2015
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