Saturday, October 21, 2023

Bring It Back(list) post: A Sight to Dream Of by PG Forte

Posted by: PG Forte


It's Fig Season!  And that can only mean that it's time to post the Fig scene from A Sight to Dream Of (which, as it happens, I AM bringing back--this coming Tuesday!). 

Outside in the garden her rooster was crowing. Lucy listened to the chorus of answering calls from the neighboring yards and snuggled deeper into the sheets, enjoying the warmth, the peace, the blissful luxury of sleeping in. The French doors that led from her bedroom out into the garden opened quietly, and then closed again, and she heard the soft, muffled sounds of someone moving through the room. She felt the bed sag as Dan came to sit beside her and then something cool and firm was brushed, lightly, repeatedly, across her lips.

“Wake up,” he whispered in her ear. “I brought you breakfast.”

She looked up into a pair of wicked blue eyes and felt desire stir. “Mmm. That’s sweet of you. What is it?” she asked, drowsily hopeful. She didn’t smell coffee, and there was something in his voice, and in his eyes that made her think food wasn’t all he was interested in giving her.  

“Figs.” Dan’s voice was low and gravelly. He settled himself more comfortably against the pillows. “I’ve been plundering your garden. See?” He held up a handful of the plump, bluish-purple fruit. “Just like the D H Lawrence poem. There was a flower that flowered inward, wombward: now there is a fruit like a ripe womb. C’mon...take a bite.”  

He held one out to her as he took another one, himself. Eating slowly, sensuously, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt a delicious warmth steal over her, but she couldn’t help teasing him just a little. 

“Poetry before breakfast, Dan? I don’t know about this. Are they even ripe?”  

“Hell, yes, they’re ripe.” He cocked his head at her and smiled. “Don’t you think I know a ripe fig when I see one? And just what do you have against poetry all of a sudden, woman?” He popped the last of the fig he was eating into his mouth and leaned closer, whispering against her ear as he recited, “The fig is a very secretive fruit...folded upon itself and secret unutterable...And milky that tastes strange on your fingers.”  His voice sent shivers running through her. 

“These are very ripe,” he continued. “And you know what the poem had to say about that, right?”

Lucy snorted. Oh, yeah. Sure, I do. She hadn’t a clue, and he knew it. She stretched invitingly and smiled. “You’re such a showoff, Cavanaugh. Why don’t you just tell me?”

“Oh, well, since you asked so nicely.” He put the figs down on the nightstand and stretched out beside her. His hand drifted slowly down the front of her nightgown.  “Honey-white figs of the north,” he recited as his fingers grazed across her breasts, she felt her nipples harden.  

Black figs with scarlet inside, of the south,” His voice sank to the barest of whispers, a tremor ran through her as his hand traveled slowly down her stomach. She swallowed hard to keep from moaning.  

Ripe figs won’t keep, won’t keep in any clime.” He smiled at her and she caught her breath as his hand slid over her hip, his fingers reaching for the hem of the gown.  Then she felt his hand sliding slowly back up her bare thigh, and he pulled her closer to him.  “So, you see Lucy, it’s important that we eat these...right now.”

He reached behind him to pluck one of the figs from the nightstand, and then turned back to press the ripe fruit against her lips. She let her head fall back and her eyes fall closed as she contemplated the thing with her mouth.  

First the skin. Firm and smooth and rounded, almost like the smooth, firm skin of his shoulder. She felt her breathing quicken. It was, just a little, like opening her mouth on the curve of his shoulder as he thrust himself into her. She explored the shape and the firmness of it with her tongue, her teeth just testing the surface. They pressed harder and the fig gave way beneath their pressure. The flesh inside was sweet, but not cloyingly so.  Fresh and cool.  

She felt him turn the fruit in his fingers, inviting her to explore more of it. She smiled as his hand lightly grazed her cheek. She delved deeper with her tongue, tasting the sweet juiciness of it. Almost as if she were taking his mouth with hers—but wetter even than that.  Like kissing him in the shower. Cool water mingling with the hot wetness of his mouth. Her tongue pressed further into the soft flesh, savoring the feel and the flavor of it. At last, she took the whole fruit with her mouth, eager for all of it, the sweet, juicy succulence of it bursting in her mouth. And when at last her tongue found his fingers, they were sweet with juice, sticky and dripping with it. She licked them slowly, licked them clean of the sticky juice, then let her mouth close around his thumb; sucking at it gently as she opened her eyes and stared into his. Lids heavy with desire, flames flickering in their dark depths.  

His finger slid from her mouth. His hand traveled up across her cheek, behind her ear, through her hair to grasp the back of her head. She lifted her face to him at the same time that he bent his to her; their mouths met and she licked into him, searching with her tongue for more of the taste of him and of the fruit they’d been eating.   

The bible had gotten it all wrong, as usual, she thought, faintly dizzy. What was an apple, anyway? 

This is Lucy and Dan in someone else's story. Can you imagine how they behave in their own story?  

For another teaser, download their pre-quel novella, Such Fleeting Pleasures:

Love wasn't always strawberries and cream for Lucy and Dan Cavanaugh...or was it?

In this Oberon prequel, we travel back in time to see how it all began.

Most of the material in this prequel novella (which is set some eighteen years before the series begins) also appears as flashback scenes in A Taste of Honey.

Download here:
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A Sight to Dream Of

Sam Sterling is a man with problems. Including a partner who is trying to kill him, and a nosy reporter, who's just turned up dead! It's going to take a miracle to save him. Or, better yet, an angel. ​

Marsha Quinn is used to being called a witch. After all, her abilities as a psychic make a lot of people uncomfortable. But no one has ever called her an angel before!

Falling in love was not a possibility she'd ever envisioned, until Sam the skeptic arrives in Oberon, and teaches her to see past the scars she carries, and the lies he's told her, to the love that lies within their hearts and minds.

Pre-Order now at:

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