Eric Carlisle, Sex God (Paranormal Billionaire Erotic Romance) (Sex Gods Book 1)

  Eric Carlisle, Sex God (Paranormal Billionaire Erotic Romance)

  By L.E. Joyce

  Copyright 2014 by L.E. Joyce

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author(s).

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are from the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, including ex-boyfriends, is completely coincidental.

  Published by Midnight Heat Books, www.midnightheatbooks.com

  Edited by Jodi Sh. Doff, jshdoff@gmail.com

  Cover by Silas Deane Design, silasdeanedesign@gmail.com

  Warning: This title contains explicit sexual encounters between consenting adults. It is intended for 18+ audiences. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

  About Eric Carlisle, Sex God

  Lord Eric Carlisle, son of Eros, God of Sex, is bored. His role in the family business is to provide pleasure to all who worship his father, yet he doesn’t realize what’s missing in his life until she walks through the Great Hall of Castle Carlisle looking for a job.

  Excerpt

  The applicants were lined up outside the drawing room, waiting for the master of the house to interview them. The day had started early as instructed, at 7 am sharp, and by noon, Eric’s hopes of finding the perfect governess had expired.

  As he slipped his hand between the thighs of Applicant # 8, Eric felt himself going through the motions of his game. With dildos, whips, and latex masks littering the floor, Eric had nearly exhausted the goodies stored in his special black steamer trunk for visitors such as her. Bound by leather and nipple clamped, Applicant # 8’s red slapped body writhed in front of him. As the straps at her ankles cut into her raw skin, she struggled to stay erect on her stiletto-heeled boots. He could make her come with the snap of his fingers, if he chose to, but not today. Not this woman. Not any of the women waiting outside hoping to become the next governess of Castle Carlisle.

  With only a simple request to remove their clothes, the applicants, one after another had surrendered to him without hesitation. Of course, it wasn’t truly he, Eric, the Marquess of Carlisle, the mortal flesh and bone person these applicants responded to. It was the God half of him that held command over them. The sorry truth was that he wasn’t even trying, and as applicant after applicant fell under his spell, licking, sucking, fucking, whatever his erotic flavor of the moment, he felt distracted.

  In the majestic drawing room of Castle Carlisle, Eric stood fully clothed gingerly caressing # 8’s folds from behind her. He made her look at herself in the full-length mirror as he explored. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her breasts. He slapped each breast with his free hand, first one, then the other, and roughly trailed his tongue down her neck. He slid three fingers deep inside her and listened to the soft whimpers escape her mouth.

  She let her eyes fall from the image of herself in the mirror, and Eric quickly reminded her of the rules. Clutching the hair at the crown of her head, he yanked her head back. “Look at yourself,” he said through clenched teeth.

  A smile spread across her lips. “Yes, Marquess,” she gasped. “As you command.” She drew her eyes to her image in the mirror, and Eric felt her hot walls clench his fingers as her excitement skyrocketed. She liked to watch him fuck her, and the squelching flow of juices from her legs proved it.

  “Good, girl,” he cooed.

  Her obedience should have excited him, should have made his cock stretch and swell in his pants, but he found her display as pedestrian as brushing teeth in a bathroom mirror.

  He picked up his tempo, frantically ramming his fingers into her silken flesh, as she bucked and squirmed, nearing a fretful climax. He held her chin tightly in his other hand and drew her ear close to his mouth.

  “Don’t you come until I say you can, remember?” he spat, holding her face firmly by the chin.

  “Yes, Marquess,” she said breathlessly.

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  Contents

  Eric Carlisle, Sex God

  About the Author

  Other Works by L.E. Joyce

  More from Midnight Heat Books

  Eric Carlisle, Sex God

  One

  Lord Eric Carlisle, The Most Honorable Marquess, emerged from his sex dungeon hidden under Castle Carlisle’s greenhouse, and faced the early morning sun. It had been a fantastic evening, one that his guests were sure to remember for years to come, yet one he wished he could erase from his mind. It wasn’t that the top players from his sex club, London’s exclusive Club Divine, had not delivered on their earned invitations to Castle Carlisle and the wild night of hardcore pleasure and pain that awaited them when they arrived. As the dutiful host, he had played his part and played it well, yet he was distracted. Even when the lusty blonde star of the evening had sucked him off while bound in a double penetration stockade, a cock in her ass and another in her slippery snatch, he felt himself merely going through the motions.

  This malaise was not the sort of thing his father, Eros, God of Sex, expected from his son. As an Erotes, and the only half mortal son of Eros, it was Eric’s duty to provide sexual fantasy to all those who sought it. Thanks to his father, Eric’s half-God blood yielded him extreme longevity. At the ripe age of two hundred, his looks still held the presence of a youthful twenty-five-year-old, and the ladies more than loved him for it. And what he provided them, the keys to unlocking their secret desires buried deep inside, was priceless. With his half-God powers, he’d lift the veil between immortal and human, reading their thoughts, their fantasies, the things only Gods knew about their devotees, and in doing so aroused them to heights never known to them before.

  Of course, he wasn’t always so skilled. He was at one time what mortals called, a late bloomer.

  Worried for his son’s growth and sexual awakening, Eros had sent for Miss Pennywinkle, and she arrived from Aphrodite’s palace riding on a cloud to Castle Carlisle. He was a young man of eighteen and she was well into her thirties, but Miss Pennywinkle knew how to bring the pleasure and pain, and Eric loved her dearly for it. She taught Eric all the skills necessary to call himself a true son of the God of Sex, and instructed him on how to give pleasure, drawing his lovers’ passions into the sordid depths of surrender. Through Miss Pennywinkle, this son of Eros and the Marchioness Elizabeth of Carlisle became Lord Eric Carlisle, The Most Honorable Marquess, billionaire playboy and professional hedonist, making his father’s heart swell with pride. Yet Eros’ words, no son of mine, were never far from Eric’s mind.

  Eric lingered on his thoughts of Miss Pennywinkle as he walked the castle grounds. It was she who had taught him how to taper his Gods given powers, his lust-desire, as she called it, how to turn it on like a faucet and keep it at a constant lukewarm temperature.

  “Mortal women,” she had warned, “cannot handle the pure lust
that courses through your Erotes veins. Exposing them to such power could devastate their minds-and bodies.”

  Yet Miss Pennywinkle’s education was now one hundred and fifty years old, and Eric was bored. As he played master of ceremonies in the sexual fantasies of every woman he met, he grew more resentful of the reminder that he was just a mere pawn in the sex games of the Gods. Where he once found excitement in sending women into the depths of desire, he now hungered to make them suffer the same as him.

  Radiating lust-desire as hot as twenty suns and no longer heeding Miss Pennywinkle’s warning, Eric played with women, turned them into carnal creatures of pleasure for sport.

  Because he could.

  Touring the grounds of his estate, Eric kept to the path, twisting and turning along the hedgerows until he reached the sculpture gardens. Here, among the cut stone depicting the unearthly side of his family, Eric felt most at home. He sat down on the cool granite bench and traced the carved dedication to his mother with his finger: For love knows no bounds. The Most Honorable Marchioness Elizabeth of Carlisle 1820–1866.

  Love for the Lady Elizabeth meant taking no other lover after Eros returned to Olympus, and dying without feeling the touch of another man. The power the Gods held over these humans of this world, it was something Eric tried to comprehend but failed many times over.

  He gazed at the sculptures of his winged Erotes family. Uncle Himeros, God of Unrequited Love stood next to Pothos, God of Longing. Next to him was Uncle Anteros, God of Requited Love. In the center of the enclave stood the likeness of his father, Eros, God of Sex, sporting a stone wingspan far outshining that of his brothers’. It had been over fifty years since Eric last saw his father and uncles. As the oldest of the Erotes half-Gods, Eric was charged with running the family estate and making sure his younger cousins stayed out of trouble. Coupling that responsibility with his normal dealings at Club Divine, he had little time left over for trips to Mount Olympus. He was due for a visit. Surely, his cousins were old enough now to not burn the castle down in his absence, he thought to himself.

  From where he sat, giggles floated up the hedgerow path. He didn’t look to see who it was, he didn’t have to, and pretended to stare at the warm summer clouds as his young cousins devilishly approached. Genevieve, daughter of Anteros, sprang out of the bushes followed by little Louie, son of Pothos. Bringing up the rear, Eric heard the sulking footsteps of Daphne, daughter of Himeros, God of Unrequited Love.

  “There you are!” Genevieve cried. “Where have you been?” At the young age of one hundred years old, she looked not a day older than thirteen. Her silky blond hair sprayed wildly out of the tortoise shell hair clip he had bought her for her birthday last year.

  “I’ve been right here,” Eric said.

  Louie collapsed in the iris beds, and let out a long sorrowful sigh.

  “What’s on your mind, Master Louis?” Eric asked.

  Louie put a hand to his head, “You see, it’s just that I’m so bored, Uncle Eric. Tell me again why we can’t go to school with mortal children.”

  “Yes, please, tell us. I don’t understand why we can’t go,” Genevieve added.

  “You know you cannot go to school like normal children,” Eric cajoled. “People outside our castle walls don’t understand us.”

  “Ugh, I don’t understand why they don’t understand,” Louie complained.

  “Come now, what’s wrong with your tutor, Mr. Worthington?”

  “He’s an immortal,” Daphne snorted. “He couldn't care less how things work here. He doesn’t understand real life.”

  Real life. Yes, what did he know about this world? Not enough.

  “Alright, children, Uncle Eric will think of something,” he told them. But Eric knew the answer to their malaise: it was time for Castle Carlisle to find a new governess, but this time she wasn’t going to arrive riding on a cloud. No. This time Castle Carlisle needed a governess ripe for his picking.

  Two

  The applicants were lined up outside the drawing room, waiting for the master of the house to interview them. The day had started early as instructed, at 7 am sharp, and by noon, Eric’s hopes of finding the perfect governess had expired.

  As he slipped his hand between the thighs of Applicant # 8, Eric felt himself going through the motions of his game. With dildos, whips, and latex masks littering the floor, Eric had nearly exhausted the goodies stored in his special black steamer trunk for visitors such as her. Bound by leather and nipple clamped, Applicant # 8’s red slapped body writhed in front of him. As the straps at her ankles cut into her raw skin, she struggled to stay erect on her stiletto-heeled boots. He could make her come with the snap of his fingers, if he chose to, but not today. Not this woman. Not any of the women waiting outside hoping to become the next governess of Castle Carlisle.

  With only a simple request to remove their clothes, the applicants, one after another had surrendered to him without hesitation. Of course, it wasn’t truly he, Eric, the Marquess of Carlisle, the mortal flesh and bone person these applicants responded to. It was the God half of him that held command over them. The sorry truth was that he wasn’t even trying, and as applicant after applicant fell under his spell, licking, sucking, fucking, whatever his erotic flavor of the moment, he felt distracted.

  In the majestic drawing room of Castle Carlisle, Eric stood fully clothed gingerly caressing # 8’s folds from behind her. He made her look at herself in the full-length mirror as he explored. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her breasts. He slapped each breast with his free hand, first one, then the other, and roughly trailed his tongue down her neck. He slid three fingers deep inside her and listened to the soft whimpers escape her mouth.

  She let her eyes fall from the image of herself in the mirror, and Eric quickly reminded her of the rules. Clutching the hair at the crown of her head, he yanked her head back. “Look at yourself,” he said through clenched teeth.

  A smile spread across her lips. “Yes, Marquess,” she gasped. “As you command.” She drew her eyes to her image in the mirror, and Eric felt her hot walls clench his fingers as her excitement skyrocketed. She liked to watch him fuck her, and the squelching flow of juices from her legs proved it.

  “Good, girl,” he cooed.

  Her obedience should have excited him, should have made his cock stretch and swell in his pants, but he found her display as pedestrian as brushing teeth in a bathroom mirror.

  He picked up his tempo, frantically ramming his fingers into her silken flesh, as she bucked and squirmed, nearing a fretful climax. He held her chin tightly in his other hand and drew her ear close to his mouth.

  “Don’t you come until I say you can, remember?” he spat, holding her face firmly by the chin.

  “Yes, Marquess,” she said breathlessly. With her orgasm at bay, she crumbled toward the floor, moaning and panting as Eric’s fingers dove into her. When her head followed her body in its surrendering fold, she lost sight of herself in the mirror. Eric yanked her head back, grabbing her hair in a tight mess until she yelped.

  “Please, Marquess,” she panted. Her eyes pleaded with him in the mirror. “Please let me come for you.”

  At this point in his sex games, Eric would relinquish his control and let the poor woman withering on a vine soar into beautiful bliss. But not today. He had already set in his mind that he would ripen Applicant #8 until she became swollen and crazed. What was once beautiful and serene, he would reduce to wild and raw, bringing her to the brink of madness.

  What was it about this woman on this day that he held in such contempt? Why did he find it necessary to punish her when she was clearly in the throes of pleasure?

  “Please Marquess,” she cried. “I must come. Please, my Lord.”

  Eric relaxed his pace and withdrew his fingers from inside her. She sighed at the momentary relief, but when he began his assault on her clit, massaging in rough circles, she screamed and squirmed and bucked against his determined hand.

  Without warning
, a hidden door behind an ancient tapestry of Zeus and Hera opened, and Eric watched in the mirror as Mrs. Davenport, his personal assistant, stepped into the room. She stood straight backed in her calf length black skirt and blouse, with not a single renegade hair loose from her taught black bun. As a woman in her mid fifties, Eric found her attractive in a matronly way, yet he never once vexed her with his Gods’ powers. He had learned that lesson well; mixing pleasures with business ended in ugliness. Eric needed Mrs. Davenport’s steely mind and efficient work ethic to keep his world here on earth intact, and she knew it.

  With a stern face, Mrs. Davenport cleared her throat.

  “Yes?” he said as his cupped hand assaulted Applicant #8’s most sensitive spot.

  “My Lord, we still have several other applicants. What would you like to do?”

  The thought of tying each one of them to a Symbian crossed his mind. “How many?” he asked.

  “Ten.” As ever, Mrs. Davenport professionalism did not waiver. She fixed her eyes on the floor and waited for his directions.

  Eric let go of Applicant # 8 and watched as she crumbled. “Release,” he said and in that moment, a wave of pleasure spread across her face. She bucked and squirmed as a thunderous orgasm quaked through her body. She thrashed and bellowed before collapsing into a limp and lifeless heap on the floor.

  “Clean her up,” Eric said. “And escort her out through the servant’s entrance.“

  “Yes, my Lord.” Mrs. Davenport moved to gather the girl.

  “Did I get the job?” she asked desperately.

  Mrs. Davenport ignored her and helped steady the girl on her feet. She led her away with hurried steps, a routine Mrs. Davenport had perfected over the years of working for the Marquess of Carlisle. Yet, this girl would not go quietly.