Chimera Synopsis:
I couldn’t be anything other than a romantic at heart — it’s my nature, it’s who I am. But this isn’t a typical story of traditional love. It isn’t a fairy tale. No happily ever after neatly tied up with a shiny bow. It’s a memoir of the reality left behind in the wake of grief — the desolation, the resurrection, and final culmination life offers to the fallen.
This is a journey through love…the love of self, love of a friend, and sometimes love is ugly, messy —destructive.
My name is Bastian Thames…and this is my story.
Excerpt
Excerpt
Reaching our destination, I stop in the doorway, unsure of where to take this. So much for any confidence booster Zane might have been trying to instill. I stand like an awkward teen virgin. Beer bottle in one hand, I stuff my free hand in my pocket and lean in against the doorframe. I watch her move as she pulls the pillows and the comforter from the bed, throwing them on the floor opposite the door. She comes to me, encouraging me inside the room as she shuts the door behind me, and seals us off from the rest of the party. I down the rest of the beer before I set the empty bottle on the dresser. Her hands find the hem of my shirt, she lifts it over my head, my bare chest heaving in anticipation. The pads of her fingertips skim my sides, chills rise on my forearms. The emotions flood my brain all at once, on the verge of publicly becoming a pussy. I push them back, knowing that having sex is like riding a bike. The fact that it’s been over six years really should be insignificant.
I allow her to explore while I enjoy the feeling of an intimate touch again. Palming my chest with her hands, her fingers run through the hair, trailing down to the top of my jeans. Her touch is soft, complaisant, gentle. Adding her mouth to the mix, she begins to pepper my skin with delicate kisses, first at my neck as she works her way down my chest. I don’t realize she undoes my jeans until they fall from my ass to the floor, pooling at my feet. I kick my shoes off, stepping out of the puddle of fabric. Her caress suggests something familiar. With no face attached to my aggressor, I can imagine her to be whomever I choose. Oddly, it’s not Sylvie behind my closed lids lighting up my imagination but Sera. Unwilling to allow her that head space, knowing she chooses another man, I force my eyes open to see the woman in front of me, going down on her knees.
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Stephie Walls Bio:
She has a serious addiction to anything Coach and would live on Starbucks if she could get away with it. She’s slightly enamored with Charlie Hunnam and Sons of Anarchy and is a self-proclaimed foodie. An avid reader who averages around three hundred novels a year and wishes she had time to read more.
She currently works full-time in the Greenville area and fill her "extra" time (haha) with reading anything she can get her hands on and writing contemporary romance novels with a hint of erotica.
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Twitter: @stephiewalls
IG: @stephiewalls
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