Deanna Wadsworth: Eleven Jim Caviezel's Piping

On the Eleventh Day of Sex-Mas Deanna brought to me....

Eleven Jim Caviezel's piping!!!!

Take it away Wendy Burke!!!

Did you know that the hero in my latest novel, NICK was based on Jim Caviezal??

Want to know why?

Oh, here is why...

So, I’ve been taking a look at all the hunks Deanna’s had on her blog so far during this run, and a feel a bit inadequate. I wanted to use all the hunks I’d ‘lusted over’ in the past (and in some cases still do!) but DW was insistent that I use the model for my latest story Wise Men Say. And that hunk would be – okay, go ahead and groan now – Jim Caviezel.

I’ve been a fan of his well before he was John Reese in Person of Interest or Jesus in The Passion of the Christ. My ‘perking up’ came about years ago in High Crimes and Déjà vu – and I watched that one for another reason – Denzel Washington. But, I digress…

Some would say there’s nothing overly ‘spectacular’ about Jim, he’s got that plain, all-American kid-next-door look to him, and maybe that’s what’s attractive to me. Regardless, he was the perfect model for the male character in my latest release Wise Men Say, from Decadent Publishing.

Shortly after I send the story to the submissions editor, this picture showed up somewhere on Facebook. It happens on occasion, someone goes picking through the photo folder in my head – and boom there it is! To top it off, he’s even dressed the part of the character!

And, I couldn’t appear on this blog without offering up some free stuff! Just zip me an email: wendyburke1994@bex.net by 12:01AM Dec. 26^th and one person will win a copy of Wise Men Say and a beautiful hand blown glass Christmas ornament!

Good Luck – thanks for reading and Merry Christmas!

BLURB:

More than twenty years ago, Emmy Patterson kissed her fiancé for the last time. Despite bad news from U.S. military services, to this day she has reasons to hold on to hope he's alive and celebrates his life every chance she gets.

Her family, however, thinks her partly crazed, unable to grasp the reasoning behind her perpetual optimism.

Called on a business trip to promote her glass artwork, she spends the winter holidays in Las Vegas. Is this chance travel to the The Castillo in Vegas a coincidence, or does the wise Madame Eve know ‘some things’ were meant to be?

EXCERPT:

Usually after so much time in the cold, she’d be tired but instead she tossed and turned.

Office of the Pentagon.

Why did that have to come today?

“Dammit.” Getting out of bed, she went to her closet. Dragging out a step stool, she reached for the box tucked in the furthest corner of the shelving. She got a hand on the container, and with reverence, she slipped it from its resting place. Careful, it’s almost all you have left of him.

Cross-legged on her mattress, with the linens and comforter bunched about her, she smoothed a small area and placed the box there. She slipped off its lid. Inside sat a flat, vacuum-packed plastic bag holding a near-ratty sweatshirt. The word Navy printed on the front, faded and close to illegible, the article of clothing had seen many washings.

But, yet, it hadn’t been washed in twenty years.

Removing the shirt from the bag, she placed it in her lap where she stroked the decade’s old piece of clothing. Closing her eyes, she remembered Nick’s solid biceps filling out the jersey fabric, his well-cut pectorals curving the front. Slipping a hand into the pullover’s opening, she imagined his flat, muscled tummy meeting her touch and her finger tracing a dark trek of cottony down.

She smiled, seeing his salacious grin in return, while his hand grasped hers, willing it further into his boxers.

“Where are you, Nicky?”

Stretching out, she kept the sweatshirt close to her face. It irritated her that she could barely discern his scent considering she’d taken such care to retain it.

He filled her mind. Sure, she had photo upon photo of him, of them together, but those images captured not the essence of her Nick; his kindness, loyalty, dedication to her and to his country, and of course, the physical memories. She cursed herself, reaching far back into her memory, trying to extract the sound of his voice. Would I even recognize it if I heard it?

She clutched the fleece closer, her free hand caressing low on her belly. She fantasized his specter kisses on her neck. Burying her face further into his clothing, she dug her hand under the waistband of her flannel pajama pants.

Even after so many years away, the mere thought of him aroused her; his beautiful, well-cut muscles flexing as he undressed, honed from workouts no gym rat could ever tolerate. The taste of his mouth, bright and pepperminty, his talented tongue, so insistent she swore he had the ability to suck her clit inside out. She gasped into the blue material as she slipped her finger deep between her folds, dreaming of him.

Holding back tears, she recalled the first time Nick had touched her in such a manner. After they’d dated for about a year, Nick got relocated from Virginia to California for SEAL training. Meeting up in Las Vegas proved easy, a cheap flight for both of them—her from Milwaukee and him from San Diego. In her mind, she leaned back into Nick’s broad chest as hot tub bubbles tickled her bare skin. The sunset over the Vegas Strip had been magnificent. After emptying a bottle of Moet to toast Nick’s new career path, some extensive fooling around ensued. In her memory, he lifted her from the tub, carrying her to bed. That moment, he kissed her in a way he’d never done before—and with good reason, that night, with her permission, he he’d taken her virginity.

She panted into the sweatshirt, her tissue swelling around her drenched finger. “Oh!” An electric burning sensation forced her finger from direct clitoral contact, but she forged through it, bringing herself over the edge. She cried out, her arms legs and torso trembling through her orgasm.

“I miss you, Nicky….”

She clutched the one remaining possession of her fiancé and cried herself to sleep.