Cherry Pie and Mistletoe by Lisabet Sarai has just been released in time for the Holidays and is a senior erotic romance to warm the cockles of your heart. Who says older folks don’t have the right to get lucky also.
Lisabet vacillates between hardcore porn stories and those that tug on the strings of your heart. Cherry Pie and Mistletoe is a romantic erotic story about the owner of a truck stop diner and an over the road truck driver as they meet one stormy Christmas Eve for hot coffee and a piece of cherry pie.
At ten-thirty on a stormy Christmas Eve, I really didn’t expect any business, but the sign for our diner out on the highway reads “open until midnight,” and I’m a woman of my word. Good thing I didn’t close; the half-frozen long haul trucker who wandered in really needed some hot coffee, not to mention a slice of my luscious cherry pie.
Something about the grizzled, bear-like man with the chocolate-brown eyes and ready laugh spun me back to my scandalous, sensual younger days. I hadn’t wanted anyone in years, but I wanted Dave Driver. Was I brave enough to act on my desire? And would he flee, screaming, from the amorous attentions of a white-haired little old lady?
If this reminds you of those days when you walked into a café, and the waitress was a voluptuous older big-haired blonde woman with a pencil stuck in her hair and called everyone “Honey,” then you need to grab a copy after throwing another log on the fire!
Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B082GY5X5P
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B082GY5X5P
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/993385
Below is an X-Rated excerpt to warm that place below your cockles!
Dave tossed the jeans onto the floor, then addressed himself to my sensible cotton panties. When his fingers grazed the skin of my belly, though, above the elastic, I froze. All at once, I remembered my age spots, my scars, my sparse gray pubic hair. Did I really want him to see the ugly truth? Most of the time I managed to forget my age. I still felt like the Marnie Anderson of my youth — painter, dancer, world traveler, free spirit, adventuress. Sex goddess. He wouldn’t see that woman, though. He’d never know her. All he’d see was the wrinkled, arthritic old lady she’d become.
“Dave…” I began, my hand on his. How could I soften the blow?
“Hush…” In one swift motion, he pulled my panties down and off. Before I could stop him, he used his big hands to part my thighs and buried his face in my pussy.
Oh God! I forgot to object. I forgot my name. A warm wave of pleasure washed over me as he ran his tongue along my groove, back and forth. At the end of each stroke, he gave a gentle flick to my clit. Delight sparked each time he nudged the sensitive bead of flesh. He burrowed deeper, sucking my labia into his mouth. My juices started to flow. He licked them up greedily, corkscrewing his tongue into my newly-slick channel until I whimpered and thrashed under the blissful assault.
I arched up, grinding my throbbing flesh against his clever mouth. He wriggled his hands under my buttocks and raised my hips off the bed so he could more conveniently consume me. Each stab of his tongue felt like a live wire applied to my clit. Second by second the sensations multiplied. The tingling knot in my pelvis drew tighter. The spasms his tongue triggered grew more and more acute. I dangled by a thread, on the verge of tumbling into ecstasy. I can’t take much more, I thought, but still, he licked and sucked, tickled and probed, building the pleasure until it was beyond unbearable.
He continued to work on my pussy, pushing me higher, but not granting me relief. Maybe some other lover, from my active and colorful past, had bestowed this much oral delight. If so, I didn’t remember. Nothing could compare with this mouth, this tongue, these lips, here and now, savoring my flesh as though that was all that existed in the world.
I needed to come, more than I needed to breathe. “Please…” I moaned, unable to frame a full sentence, but my barely articulate plea was enough. Dave opened me wider and raked his teeth across my clit. A flicker of pain tore through me; the dam broke. My body jerked, and my limbs flailed as pleasure took complete control. My lover held me tight, swallowing every drop of the flood released by my quivering sex. Velvet curtains of darkness closed around me.
I opened my eyes to find Dave kneeling between my splayed, sticky thighs, licking his lips.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“What a silly question! Come here.” I pulled him down on top of me, into a kiss rich with my personal flavor. “Thank you. That was incredible.”
He grinned and nodded. “Yup. Even tastier than your cherry pie.”
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred-page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, sci-fi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh