An Erotic Fantasy In a Very Inappropriate Place on WIPitUp Wednesday

I featured this excerpt on a weekend blog.  With only 8 lines allowed, I was called a tease.  I promised to reveal all on WIPitUp Wednesday.  Not one to leave you hanging (snicker) here it is.

Jackson's Justice

Release Date:  January 15th

Unofficial blurb...

Heath is having a very inappropriate fantasy about a mysterious stranger in a less than ideal place.  She turns out not to be such a mystery at all.  In fact, she keeps popping into his life, landing in the middle of one fix after another, and getting under his skin.  

But he resists:  at eighteen she's too young, too innocent and a family friend.  She's also too damn hot for his own piece of mind. 

The excerpt as promised:

As the woman moved along, she nodded at folks, pausing every now and again for a brief word or to clasp hands.  Near the front, she leaned over to hug an elderly woman who was too frail to stand.  The position pulled her skirt tight across her hips and Heath nearly swallowed his tongue.  Images of the beauty bent over with her bottom bared for him flooded his mind.

Without benefit of the skirt and whatever fripperies she wore beneath, he would guide her curvy body over one of the benches.  Naked, her bottom upraised, she would tremble ever so slightly in anticipation. Stretching forward, she’d reach toward the bench seat, her breasts swaying freely, the glorious mass of her Titian hair tumbling over her shoulders and onto the cushions, spreading out like a fan.

She would strain toward the floor, her toes pointed downward, just out of reach.  As she balanced precariously, he would enjoy teasing glimpses of the sweet treasure that lay between her thighs, the glistening pink flesh framed by a perfect thatch of red-gold curls.

Breathless and eager for that first touch, for the fervent kiss of his hard palm on her rounded behind, she would whimper softly through her plump parted lips.

Ever gracious, he wouldn’t make her wait.

Beginning low on the back of her silken thigh, he’d run his hand slowly upward, gliding over the rounded hills of her bottom cheeks.  His fingertips grazing along the cleft, would dip inside to test her wetness and heat.

As she trembled in response, his purpose would come back to him.  A long time in coming, she had earned this spanking for teasing him, flirting outrageously, holding herself away from him and building his need to a fever pitch.

Unable to wait any longer, his hand would rear back returning swiftly to connect with a smarting crack across her pristine behind.  A sharp intake of breath echoing off the walls would come back to them as she flipped her hair out of her face.  She would turn to him, her beautiful visage flushed, brilliant green eyes wide as a plea came from her parted lips...

Fantasy became reality in that moment as the redhead turned and he at last saw her brilliant green eyes, which seemed to gaze straight at him.  No, not at him, she was looking at her father who had been standing behind her.  With a parting kiss to his cheek, she turned and proceeded up the aisle toward the front of the church.

His stomach lurched as he came to grips with the fact that the redhead he was ogling and lusting after was Jenny Harper.  A longtime friend of the family and a decade or more his junior, she was an innocent no doubt.  Horror swept through him as he realized he’d had illicit fantasy about her, a mere child compared to him and in church no less.

He sat back and closed his eyes waiting for lightening to strike him and send him straight to hell.  At the very least, he expected God to smite him for befouling this sweet child and his house of worship in one fell swoop with his decadent and lustful thoughts.

A sharp pain seared his rib cage.  His eyes flew open half expecting to see an angel of vengeance hovering over him with a bloody sword.

“Heath Jackson,” a familiar voice whispered.  “Don’t you dare fall asleep.”

He closed his eyes in relief that his death wasn’t yet imminent and he would undoubtedly live to sin another day.  The sharp pain came again, but now he knew the source.  He turned his head and looked down at his mother who was glaring up at him.

“I’ll not have it, young man.  The one Sunday out of a baker’s dozen that you deign to accompany your mother to church and you doze off before the service even starts?”

Young man, he mentally sighed.  In a month he’d be thirty, he wondered if she would ever stop calling him that.   He reached for her arm, preventing further use of her pointed elbow.

“I’m awake, Ma, so kindly stop jabbing my side or it will be two dozen more Sunday’s before you coax me back.”