Sexy becomes her… for My Sexy Saturday

This week’s theme for the My Sexy Saturday blog hop is “Sexy Becomes Her.” To borrow the organizer’s words: Have you noticed a sexy woman walk into the room? Sometimes they know they’re sexy and play it up, sometimes they don’t have a clue. Regardless of if they know or not, they draw people, both men and women, to them like bees to honey. Sometimes they are witty and make anyone in their sphere feel special even if they aren’t someone they love. Have you ever met someone like that? That person is what this week is about…”

Heroines don’t get much more like that striking female archetype than Xia, the adorable, dangerous felinoid (aka cat-girl) heroine of my science-fiction romance Bad Kitty (Chronicles of the Malcolm, Book 2). She’s one of the ones who knows she’s hot and plays it up. Cats, after all, know they’re gorgeous.

The other reason Xia’s making a guest appearance today is a salute to all the people marching in Washington and other cities, wearing hats with cat ears (pussy hats).I like to imagine what would happen to some bloviating male chauvinist who tried to grab this pussycat without her enthusiastic consent. The felinoid attitude toward sex is “hell yes–but only if you ask nicely.”

Rahal took a deep breath, drinking in Xia’s personal perfume, the flavor of her skin and blood. The young woman, probably ten years his junior, was an aphrodisiac. If he could bottle her scent, the nuances of her blood, he could make enough credits to repair all the damage to Siantana and get started on the rest of this poor, beat-up planet, while treating himself to a first-class vacation somewhere that didn’t smell like burning.

No, just the scent of her skin, delectable as that was, wouldn’t be enough. He’d need to capture the grace of her tail, the charm of her posture—meltingly sensual, yet alert to the danger around her and ready for action—the blooded velvet power of her hands, the exact cock of her ears and especially the left ear’s one adorable white tip.

If they’d been alone, he’d be halfway to seducing her by now. Maybe farther along than that because she smelled of heat, of need, as well as all the other delicious things that were permanent parts of who she was. She might already be as wet under her short skirt as he was hard in his pants. She might be willing to hit the ground on hands and knees and cock her pretty tail for him right now, then talk later.

And there would be talk, once the first urgency passed, because everything about her screamed there was far more to Xia Suarez than her undeniable tawny beauty. Intelligence, passion, danger.

If he believed the old granny-and-grandpa tales of knowing your mate at first sight, he’d think she was fated to be his. Stars, he half believed it anyway, or at least wanted to believe it.

Then something processed in a brain so drunk on hormones he was thinking about as clearly as an adolescent. Suarez. She shared a last name with the dark, very human captain and his huge, humorless (but handsome, in a big, beefy, heavily decorated Furagi style) husband. She pronounced her name like a human would. She’d obviously been adopted off-planet as a kitten.

Even if she was his mate, she might not know about mating, how it overcame all rationality and better judgment—not that their species had a lot of either on an ordinary day. He’d just have to make sure she fell for him fast and hard, and explain the rest later.

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