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Hush by Lizbeth Dusseau

He quickens her heart, awakens her passion, and drives her dfeep into the enigma of his mysterious past. Photojournalist, Dana Padget, enters the lush world of Lucien Broussard unsuspecting of his charms and his power to woo her. Engaging her in a gentle but thorough seduction, he fulfills a sexual need in her she long ago dismissed. Even as the romantic passion builds, Dana knows there's danger lurking beneath the surface of the tempestuous affair - in the secrets of Lucien's perplexing house and in the ghost of his murdered wife, Ariel, who haunts its corridors night and day.

In a war of reality versus the supernatual, Dana questions her own sanity, as her love for the enchanting Lucien becomes something that she knows she cannot live without. This romantic novel is brimming with suspense, sumptuous sexual escapades, and a romance that blooms out of nightmares, and fantasy and curious mystical twists.


He spoke in hushed tones. She felt their knees graze against each other’s under the table. They’d been doing so all night. As he cradled her face in his hand, she watched him, mesmerized by the sight of his changeable eyes. She felt his other hand beneath the table move to her knees and gently part them. Not that he would actually reach up between them, he simply wanted them open.

“Why are you doing that?” she whispered, as his firm hand pushed her legs even wider.

“Hush,” he said sweetly, with a smile. “You’ve been too wary tonight, too pent-up. When you part your thighs, I can feel your inner energy soar. Just relax, you have nothing to worry about from me.” Saying that, he pulled his hand out from underneath the table and picked up his fork to eat the chocolate torte in front of him.

Dana gazed at him stupefied. He was right about her sexual energy, the unexpected demand reminded her that his over-powering effect on her was primarily sexual. He brought out longing, and steamed heat, and dormant desire, and something very raw. Even though her skirt was short, riding high almost to her crotch with her legs spread out, she held the pose, relishing the surge of sensation that moved from her to him.

“You have me baffled, Lucien,” she said, taking a bite of her own torte. “And feeling like a loose woman.”

“Isn’t that wonderful?” Lucien replied. “Since I met you at your door tonight, you in that lovely dress, I could think of nothing all through dinner but the picture of ou sitting with the skirt bunched at your thighs.”

She blushed, unable to hide her embarrassment.

“I wooed another woman just like you,” he said.

“You mean Ariel?” She thought again of the tales from the museum, and the phantom presence that haunted its corridors.

“Of course I mean Ariel.”

Lucien owned an old Mercedes with broad seats, and dark windows, and locks that snapped tight after he pushed Dana into the back seat of the vehicle. His body descending to hers. They didn’t undress with the seats so cold, the snow beginning to pile up around the car. But they were warm where it mattered, in the middle of their crotches. Without saying a word, without even thinking of protesting, Dana lay back against the leather seat, and opened her thighs again, just as they’d been in the restaurant.

She was ripe, her aromatic fragrance so strong she smelled it, too, when he pushed aside the nylon panties and pressed a finger inside the warm wetness. His hand turned firm again, changing like the countenance of his face changed so frequently. With fingers driving deeply inside, she moaned, tears coming to her eyes as she felt the almost painful thrust of his hand moving against her. In the dark she could hardly see his face, but a shard of light from an overhead beam penetrated through one window, revealing a determined look. She was scared but aroused by his remarkable expression. She invited him with her arms outstretched, and he withdrew the pounding fingers and opened his pants, the heavy hard thing inside unseen, pressed against her thighs. She could tell it was enormous, more enormous still when he penetrated her.

“My, my my god,” she gasped softly.

They moved, the rhythm easy, a sure steady lovemaking. His lips covered her face with dozens of kisses, while he murmured things she could never remember. Her mouth whimpered faint replies. Lucien finished inside her with his erection exploding so she could feel his wild jerking cum all through her body. And because she did not jerk herself, or gasp enough, his fingers returned to her steamy center once he’d withdrawn, and he stroked her tenderly there until as her arousal crescendoed and she climaxed, too.

There was wet cum from Lucien’s penis on her thigh, feeling cold after he moved off her body.

“My god, I did this right here!” she gasped. She looked aghast as her mind returned reality.
“Did someone see?”

“You wonder that?” Lucien remarked. “And not why?”

“I know why. We were overcome by the moment.”

“Then that must happen to you often,” Lucien suggested, already knowing that it didn’t.

“It has never before,” she admitted. She pulled up to sitting, pushing her skirt down over her thighs as far as it would go. There was likely a wet spot on the back of the dress from their combined juices that flowed from her well-used hole. Her hose were soiled, her panties too, but she liked it that way, for the first time in a long time feeling something this deliciously naughty.

“You needed to be wooed, Dana,” Lucien said. “Now perhaps I’d better take you home.”

They drove to her townhouse in silence. She had nothing to say, and then a whole discourse suddenly appeared to her, but not making up her mind, she ended up saying nothing.

“I will see you tomorrow morning,” Lucien said, once he walked her to her front door.

“No. Not tomorrow,” Dana answered. “I have other appointments Monday.”

“Then Tuesday,” he said. “It wouldn’t be a good idea to wait any longer.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“And plan on spending the night Thursday. I think we’ll be ready to through the attic pieces then.”

There was no negotiating the deal, times, days or her rapt attention to his project. He was decisive and authoritative, just when she was thinking that she didn’t need that kind of man in her life. But then too, he wasn’t like her husband. His assumptive manner was only a small aspect of his personality. So vague and mysterious were the other elements of his character, and erotic – compellingly erotic. She wondered if she could ever know him well. He was on the verge of something all the time, but unlike her husband, who could be like that too, there was no agitation, just an abiding peacefulness about him, during which she was left to speculate what about what he would do to her next.

Artist Credit

© Dmitriy Raykin - Shutterstock.com

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