I'm loving my new cover created by Ellora's Cave artist, Syneca for my coming soon book, Quincy's Woman. This story started as a 2,500 word Free Read titled The Journal of Lucy Quince.
The original was written in the format of a diary as a narrative of a young woman's first year of marriage exploring both the sensual side of a relationship, the erotic heat that can unite two very different people, and the incredible challenges a woman faced in 1867 Texas.
I retained the first person POV and wrote within the framing story, not expecting it to be more than a short 18k at most. I was astonished when the main character, Lucy Quince, started talking, and took over, growing Quincy's Woman to a whopping 40k.
First person is a new venture for me but I enjoyed the challenge. Here's a pre-edit snippet from Quincy's Woman. The polished book will be coming out sometime this spring from Ellora's Cave.
Last night, I bathed, donned nightgown, and sat brushing my hair in front of the tiny mirror on the side table. Instead of the nervous tremors that filled my stomach, I focused on how I would decorate his bedroom, no—our bedroom.Ambrose bathed before he joined me. I tried not to stare at him, but I had never seen a shirtless man before. A pelt of hair on his muscled chest caught my attention. Drops of water glistened there, as though he’d been eager to join me and hurried through his ablutions. His hair curled wetly and I urged him over so that I could blot the excess from his head.He squatted in front of me and laid his forehead against my neck, kissing my shoulder while I dried him. I felt an unexpected tenderness and relaxed under the glide of his mouth as he nibbled and teased my flesh.He untied the ribbon that held my peignoir closed, and brushed his lips across the rounded swell of my bosom.“You mustn’t,” I told him.“Today you became my wife, Lucy. Tonight, I will make you my woman.”I did not know if I wanted to be his woman. The way Ambrose looked at me made me question his intentions. His eyes were burning with an emotion I didn’t recognize and his usual calm demeanor was replaced by an excitement that frightened me. He wouldn’t let me retreat.“Please,” I asked him. “Could we talk for a minute?” My voice was husky with both fear and anticipation.In answer, he buried his face between my breasts at the same time he rolled the straps of my nightgown down my shoulders. My arms were held captive as he explored my flesh.I was shocked when his mouth closed over my nipple, even more so when he suckled, using his tongue and teeth to elicit stirrings within my body.“You talk,” he growled (it was the sound of a beast) and it brought forth prickles of awareness I’d not felt before. He recaptured my breast—my teat—and bit it gently, while he mumbled around it, “I’ll listen.”
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