Sexy stories feature writer Moriah Jovan and are excerpted from her novel, The Proviso. The Proviso is available from B10 MediaWorx (electronic versions) and the print book is available from Amazon, along with her newest release, Stay. Moriah Jovan writes romance with a few unexpected twists and turns, usually involving sex, religion, money, and politics-all the things your mother told you not to talk about in public. She lives in Kansas City, Missouri, and, when not involved with her kids or her day job, spends her time listening to the voices in her head conversing with imaginary friends. You can follow her on Twitter - she's pretty interesting, we promise! 
"Very nice," Sebastian drawled with appreciation when Giselle emerged from her bedroom on the evening of Fen's exploratory fundraiser. The strapless dress, reminiscent of 1950s Hollywood glamor, had two layers. The pencil underskirt of white brocade was beaded and sequined along the edges of its floral motif and the hem just kissed the toes of her black sling-back heels. A long slit up the side allowed Giselle her full stride and relatively quick access to her gun without marring the skirt's narrow lines. The full black silk taffeta overskirt had a slight train. The front of it parted in an A shape from waist to floor and flared out like a cape when she walked. It framed the white underskirt with stark elegance. A small decorative pouch hung from an inconspicuous strap on the inside of the skirt to function as a pocket or, should she care to wear it on her wrist, a reticule. Above her skirts, a lightly silver-embroidered and jet-beaded black velvet corset hugged her torso well enough to guarantee that just the right amount of bosom blossomed over its top so as to tease without being vulgar. She'd dressed her hair in a modified, messy chic Gibson girl style. A diamond and ruby bracelet, borrowed from Sebastian's mother, sparkled loosely on her wrist and Giselle's own diamond earrings dangled from her earlobes. "Rubies," Sebastian said once he'd carefully assessed the details of her presentation. "Wear your ruby drops. Are you sure about going strapless?" Giselle glanced down at the gunshot wound in the soft hollow just under her left shoulder. "Fen needs to see it so he can commence kissing my ass." "Make sure you don't let Kenard wheedle the story out of you." "Pffftt." "I've heard he's clever like that." * * * * * Absorbed in watching the play of light on the surface of his sparkling water, Bryce thought he saw a head of honey-colored hair in his periphery and his gut clenched. Only one person he had ever met had hair that color, subtle in its blondeness and its redness at the same time. No hairdresser, no matter how talented or expensive, could duplicate the complicated highlights of commingling blonde and red strands. He turned and looked for her, unable to credit that she might be here. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her. When she turned a bit, he realized that she went about on Sebastian Taight's arm and a pain struck him behind his sternum as she chatted amiably-almost familiarly-with Fen and Trudy Hilliard. Bryce drank in her appearance more fully, able to take his time and notice small details that pleased but did not surprise him. She had such an air of understated elegance, he had to wonder if she had a gun strapped to her thigh. Her black and white dress showed off her pale shoulders to exquisite advantage and gave her hair a subtle brilliance. He liked the red earrings. The slight plump of her breasts above the black corset caught his attention. His mind filled with images of them bare, flushed with passion, her nipples begging him to lick and suck them. He drew in a sharp breath and his erection strained against his fly. She turned away from him then and he studied the delineation of well-developed muscles in her arms and upper back. He remembered her legs the night of Leah's visitation. Collier's Lilith was soft, round, lush. Giselle Cox was most definitely not.
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