by Amber Burns
Rowan
Woodsmen & City Girls - Book 1
By Amber Burns
The following story is full of romance, sex and sensuality. See the preview below for a bit of foreplay.
“You like it?” he asked, and although he didn’t even finish the sentence, Nina found herself nodding, smiling, laughing in agreement.
“Yes,” she said, and she took a step forward. She reached out a hand and pressed it against his stomach, her fingers finding the outlines of his abs. She breathed in as her pulse quickened, then looked up at him, her eyes a dangerous shade of green. “I really like it.”
Rowan looked at her for a moment, his face unreadable, his eyes black pools of temptation. Then in one motion he leaned forward, grabbed her roughly and pulled her towards him, and pressed his lips against her own. Nina gasped and pressed her lips against his face. He held her tenderly yet roughly against him, his abs heaving and pressing into her torso, his hips pushing against her own in a way that made her gasp. Her tongue flicked against the roof of his mouth, and he felt himself beginning to harden. He ran his fingers through her mane of hair, daring to burn his tattooed flesh against the fiery tendrils of her mane, daring to be burned, if only to roll with her in heated bliss for a few moments. He cupped her face and kissed her fiercely, tenderly, his fingers tracing the outline of her cheek, her hands running down his back, grabbing at his ass, his hips, then finally, finally, and his eyes began to roll back in bliss, sliding beneath his shirt and slinking downwards towards his crotch.
That was when he stopped. He pulled away from her roughly, so suddenly that she startled, her eyes flashing open with green electricity, her hair flying backward in the wind. He picked her up under one arm and threw her down against the soft ground. She cried out in pleasure, her fingers slinking beneath her shirt, caressing her breasts. He grinned and peeled his own shirt back away from his body, revealing his impossibly toned stomach, the inky snake dangerously slinking up and down his center. His chest heaved up and down in time with the rhythm of her own writhing. This made his dick throb. He reached down and undid his pants. Her eyes widened, and she pinched both her nipples, her lips hanging open, her legs trembling with eager anticipation.
Join the Scarlet Lantern Publishing Newsletter to get SIX FREE STORIES and weekly updates on sales and new releases.
You’ll also receive updates on all of our author’s latest releases, a FREE erotic novella and a chance to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card!
Copyright © 2017 by Amber Burns & Scarlet Lantern Publishing
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.
All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
Table of Contents
Rowan - Woodsmen and City Girls Book 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Bonus Novel: Silver and Bold
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
More Erotic Romance from Amber Burns
1
Rowan raised the ax above his head, cold metal glinting beneath the sun and casting flecks of golden light across his hair. In one swift movement, he brought the ax down hard and split the log into two clean, twin pieces of timber. He ran a hand across his face, ruddy and pink with pleasant exertion, and stared down at his work. Around his feet laid thirty-seven split logs, all ready to be carefully and precariously stacked against the cabin’s outside walls. He nodded, satisfied with the work he had accomplished. The sun still hung high in the sky, beaming down at him, approving of his hard, gritty labor with her wide, white light smile. He stared up at the blue backdrop of the sky, at the way the tips of the trees tickled the early afternoon light, swaying gently in the autumn breeze. He smiled and rolled back his sleeves, pushing red flannel away from his tattooed skin. A fly landed on his wrist and spent a moment tracing the inky patterns that decorated his arm before again taking to the sky. He grinned and dropped the ax to its resting place on an old tree stump.
As he began to wrestle the smartly severed wood into rows against the side of the cabin, Rowan smiled. The morning’s activity of cutting and chopping and ax-wielding had left him with a warm, satisfying burn in his abdominal muscles, the proof of having completed some true, hard work. He hefted piece of timber after piece of timber up against the cabin wall, enjoying the power of his arms, relishing the dots of sweat that began to crop up along his temples and dance down his face, catching onto the dark hairs of his beard.
“Good work, Rowan,” he grinned to himself, placing another log against the cabin wall. “Good work.”
The kettle sizzled as it rocked back and forth above the fire. Rowan easily tossed a large slab of freshly chopped wood upon the flames, feeding their red-orange hunger. He crouched before the fire and plucked the kettle from the flames. Steam spouted from the mouth of the iron kettle, shrieking, as Rowan fished a china cup from the assortment of mismatched dishes that sat on the wooden shelf above the mantel. He placed the cup on the floor and poured the boiling water from the lips of the kettle. As the water flowed through her lips, the kettle’s shrieking silenced.
Rowan crossed the room to approach an assortment of cloth bags that hung from the wall on nails. They were of different materials and sizes, and each emanated a different earthy smell. He dipped his hand into one cloth bag and withdrew several leaves of fresh mint. He rubbed them gently beneath his nose and smiled as the fresh smell danced into his nostrils. Then he plunged his fingers into another cloth bag. His hand emerged filled with dried and candied lemon. He nodded and lumbered back to the cup of boiling water. Then, kneeling carefully above the glass, bathed in the orange glow of the fire, he dropped the bits of candied lemon into his china cup. He stirred the contents with a tiny silver, ornate spoon. After a moment, he let the mint leaves flutter into the cup and stirred those as well. Then he sat back before the fire, feet outstretched so that they sat just inches from the roaring flames. He clutched the small cup between his tattooed fingers and, watching the flames dancing as one would watch television, Rowan sipped his homemade tea.
He drained the cup as the fire told him stories. In the dancing of the fire, he watched the body of a woman emerge, crafted from the seductive tangle of sparks of yellow and tongues of red. He raised an eyebrow as she the woman made of fire and flame seemed to raise an arm to beckon him forward.
“What the…”
The flames danced, and the woman appeared to sway curvaceous hips back and forth, back and forth, in a dance that both taunted and intrigued Rowan. He swallowed and blinked, not wanting to get closer to the open fire for fear of burning himself, but at the same time, wanting nothing more than to be fully engulfed by the story he found unfurling in the lightning brig
ht flames. He set his cup down and inched ever so slightly forward, ever so slightly closer to the storytelling fire.
As he did, a pile of bright white flames burst to life just to the left of the woman made from the tongues of flame. Rowan blinked rapidly, trying to convince himself his eyes were seeing things. He swiped his fists over his eyes, trying to clear them of any smoke or any other substance that might be forcing him to see what he thought he was seeing. Yet his eyes were clean and clear, and the fiery vision remained before him; a strong, muscular body made from flame had burst into vigorous burning just to the left of the fiery lady. To Rowan’s disbelief, the muscled mass of fire twisted and burnt itself to the left until it touched the would be woman of flame. Rowan glanced down at the tea he still clutched in his now shaking hands. Had he chosen something else instead of the mint? He sniffed at the glass. No, it was surely mint, and yet still he decided to set the tea down on the hardwood floor.
The fire appeared too strange, a woman and man crafted from flame twisting in bright beauty before him. He often sat before the fire and imagined creatures appearing made from the flames; he sometimes spied foxes, or snakes, or the head of a cat. But these visions appeared briefly, and they were completely abstract, pictures he searched for and found in imperfect inflamed representation, like spying an animal made out of clouds. He had never before experienced anything like this; images so vivid, so obvious in their forms, so absolute in their storytelling. It sent shivers running up and down his spine, and goose bumps careening over his tattooed flesh. He shook his head and yet, for all his discomfort, was unable to tear his eyes from the cinematography of the flames.
The two flame beings, a man and a woman, tangled and danced, twisted and leaped, becoming one flame so bright and thick and hot that Rowan had to shield his eyes and push himself backward, away from the intense heat of the fire. He shimmied back so quickly that he knocked the china glass over and sent it spinning in a wild flurry of wilted mint leaves and dregs of wet sugary lemon. When he dropped his hand from his face he was shocked: the massive fire had completely sussed out. Not even an ember burned amidst the coals.
“How… how can that be?”
Rowan’s mouth dropped open and swiped his tattooed fingers over the tangles of his ink black beard. He squinted and stared at the fire for a few moments, stupefied, before he jumped back into action. He squatted before the deep fireplace he had built with his own hands. Carefully, lovingly, he poked at the embers with the fire stick he had crafted by melting down the sharpened edges of a piece of metal he had found discarded in the forest. Yet for all his loving stoking, the fire would not come back to life. The room soon lost its warmth as autumn was quickly progressing and the nights were growing cool as a glass of summer lemonade. Rowan shivered against the cooling air.
“Fuck,” he muttered to himself.
He stood, intending to fetch the blanket from the couch and make his way to bed, but he then remembered the spilled tea. He crouched and picked the mint leaves from the floor, dropped the bits of candied lemon back into the emptied china cup. He stood and breathed out, still a bit shaken and confused by the story the fire had so graphically splayed before him.
The moon flashed her slippery silver smile at Rowan as he made his way to his bedroom. Before wrapping himself beneath the handmade quilts, he made sure to turn over the coals in the small iron stove that sat at the foot of his bed. It would burn on ever so slightly, keeping the bedroom warm through the chill of the night.
Rowan rolled himself into bed, pulling the quilts up around his body. As his eyes grew heavy and he began to fall into the deepness of a satisfied sleep, the woman made of flames danced through his mind. That night his dreams would be decorated with the crackle of her hips, swaying back and forth so smoothly, so electrically, like a twisted, seductive lullaby.
2
“Do you have the keys?”
Nina rolled her eyes and stuck her head out of the car window.
“Jess. How do you think I was able to open the window to yell at you? Of course I have the keys.”
Jess wrestled with her oversized designer scarf and called over the mass of wool. “Okay okay okay! I just wanted to be sure, Nina, okay?”
“Okay,” Nina laughed. She drummed her fingers on the leather of the steering wheel. “Can we please just go now?”
“Yeah come on Jess!” Anna called from the back seat.
“Seriously. We are actually like never going to, like, leave,” Esme whined, twirling a strand of long black hair.
“I’m coming!” Jess opened the door to the passenger seat and squeezed in. “I’m sorry but you know I’m not going out until I look good. And I mean good.” She flipped open a compact of blush and began powdering her cheeks with shimmery rose.
“We’re going hiking,” Anna retorted. “You don’t have to look good.”
Nina twisted around in her seat and fixed Anna with a look.
“Honey, we always have to look good,” she said. She reached out a hand to rub a bit of lipstick off of Esme’s teeth with a perfectly manicured fingertip. “What if we need to take a cute Instagram pic?”
Anna rolled her eyes.
“Whatever. Can we just go already?”
“Yes, we can!” Nina sang. She twisted the key in the ignition, and the car roared to life. She pushed her sunglasses down over her green eyes and backed the car out of the driveway.
The early autumn sunshine fell from the sky as easily as the leaves fell from the trees. Nina rolled down the windows of the car and tossed her hair back over her shoulders, enjoying the way the breeze ran its fingers through her fiery red mane. Jess played the role of DJ, plugging her iPod into the car’s expensive speakers and blaring music as the girls rolled down the highway. Anna sang along in her off-key voice, absentmindedly playing with her chipping nail polish. Esme pulled a silver cigarillo from her purse and began to smoke a cigarette delicately, leaning ever so slightly out of the window in order to prevent the ash from falling on her designer leather jacket.
“This is going to be the absolute best picnic ever!” Nina grinned as she turned the car off of the highway and onto a small side road. Anna smiled and leaned forward into the front seat, squinting at the road ahead of them.
“It’s hard to see with all the dust from this weird side road,” she said, blinking rapidly.
“Yeah, but I know where we’re going,” Nina assured, tucking her wild red hair behind her ears and settling back in her seat. “It is just up ahead a couple of miles this way.” She glanced quickly at the GPS, and then at Jess. “At least, that’s what Jess said.”
“Whaa?” Jess looked up from her phone, mid-text message. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s what it said on Google maps, so yeah.”
“See?” Nina pursed her pink lips in a smile. “Google maps knows what’s up, even if I don’t!”
“Alright,” said Anna. “I am just really excited to get out there and get into nature, you know? Get gritty… maybe climb a tree or something…”
Nina’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up her forehead.
“Oh no,” she said, her gaze holding the curving of the road before her. “I am not climbing any trees. My Louboutins are not going to go through that kind of hiking shit.” She fixed her red-bottomed heels with a fond gaze.
“How are you going to hike through the forest with heels on?” Anna asked.
“Yeah, Nina, you should have at least worn wedges,” Jess offered. “Like those are full blown stiletto.”
“Well it’s not like we’re going on a hike or something,” Nina defended.
She kept her eyes on the road and fought the feeling of annoyance that had begun to bubble in the pit her stomach. Why did her friends have to ask so many questions? And why did they always have to pick on her? It was probably because they were just jealous they weren’t making enough money to afford more than a single pair of Louboutins.
Nina inhaled deeply and added. “We’re going on a cute picnic. That does not requ
ire full blown woodsman attire or anything like that. You can still look cute on a picnic.”
“Yea but what if you step in some animal shit? Poopy stilettos… not so cute,” Anna fired back.
Nina bit her bottom lip and forced a stiff smile across her face.
“You just worry about you, you little forest adventurer,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice jumping in pitch. “I’ll take care of myself and my cute shoes too, alright?”
“Is there like a rest stop somewhere? Because I totally have to pee,” Esme whined.
Nina reached forward and cranked the music.
“I can’t hear you!” she yelled. She smashed her foot down hard on the gas pedal, and the girls shrieked as she sent the car flying forward along the bumpy dirt road.
***
“We’re Here,” Nina sang as the BMW screeched to a stop, kicking up a cloud of thick dust as it came to rest in a small lot just off the roadway.
