Velvet Trap: Awakening Book 1

by Mael d’Armor



Life’s a beach, or about to become one, for newly-wed young Helen. Fresh out of uni, she is on her way to a private tropical island, on the Queensland coast, to sample its delights before her adorable husband can join her for their honeymoon.

Trouble is, her sultry hostess Selena had more than cute portraits in mind when she persuaded her to pose for the lens. Can Helen ignore the steamy fantasies which this blue-eyed Circe is fanning in her heart?

Confused by her own unexpected desires, the angel-faced bride is trying so hard to remember who she is, and where she came from. So hard. But sometimes, trying is just not good enough. Especially if a gorgeous sorceress wields the tempting hand.



Helen has not bothered to slip out of her clothes. Lying on a thick futon in the guest bungalow behind the main house, she is staring at the dark shape of a motionless ventilator on the ceiling. The mist in her mind has cleared slightly and the hiccups are gone, but she is still floating on clouds. Sleep is eluding her, though, kept at bay by a kaleidoscope of thoughts and impressions. The chopper ride to the island, the coral swim, the sunset watch on the deck, that rather unsettling conversation …

As if born of the night, muted strains of music begin to waft through her open window. She can’t make out the melody but recognises the soft sounds of a pan flute. Intrigued, she gets up gingerly in her darkened room and makes her way to the window. The music is coming from Selena’s bedroom across the lawn, where light is pulsing dimly through the gaping French doors. Candlelight probably, judging by the flickering glow.

A shape now, outlined against the glow. A woman’s shape, moving sensually in the half gloom, dancing it seems. Yes, dancing a slow, sinuous dance. Elbows raised high, hands holding back long strands of hair, hips gyrating. The body glides and flows in perfect unison to the tune, as though part of it.

Helen is puzzled by the performance. This is not your standard workout. A relaxation technique perhaps, before sleep? Whatever it is, she cannot take her eyes off the undulating silhouette. The dancer has moved to the right and stepped into the glow. Helen catches her breath, for Selena is stark naked, and the candlelight is fluttering across her hips and breasts. Luscious, curvaceous breasts, which sway gently to the rhythm of the flute.

Helen feels a twinge of guilt. She is intruding on a very private moment. What if she is seen? She is only metres away. How awkward. But that’s impossible. Her own bedroom is cast in complete darkness; there is no way her hostess could know she is here, peeping.

Her curiosity snuffs out her qualms and she watches on, with growing fascination. Selena has started spinning in slow motion as she rolls and sways. Like a golden extension to the notes, the candlelight is playing lascivious games with her curves, coaxing out of obscurity now the swell of a hip, now the crescent of a buttock.

Helen cannot make out her expression. The dancer’s face remains stubbornly plunged in darkness, screened by unruly locks of hair. No face then. Just a flowing shape, without identity. A tantalising shape. Helen is curiously bound to the aura of this lithe body. She had no idea the female figure could be so enticing, so mesmerising. She had always had an aesthetic appreciation of the beauty of her sex, of course, acquired, among other things, from her academic meanderings through European art, and gleaned also, more prosaically, from the countless health and fashion magazines she had pored over as a teenager.

But this – this is something else, although she is not sure exactly what is moving her. A longing, an attraction, oddly foreign to the pinpricks of jealousy she had felt before, when scrutinising the glossy, elongated and perniciously photoshopped bodies of the vapid models that spilled out of her monthlies. Not envy, then, but a bizarre captivation for this fluid silhouette. Is this the effect of the mist still drifting through her mind? Perhaps it is. She hopes it is. She does not know how long she has been standing there but, surprisingly, her heart aches with the pain of sudden loss when the music finally dies and Selena moves beyond the door frame.

Purchase link – Amazon



A copy of the featured title

For 3 randomly drawn commenters



Born in a cosy village in Brittany, France, Mael D’Armor has worked as an academic, cartoonist and young children’s author. He came to Australia in search of wide spaces and exciting life forms. For reasons as yet unclear to him, this prompted his move into fiction and his first, award-winning short story was published in 2012. He writes about the complexities of desire, frustration, hope, love and French kissing – though not always in that order.




  1. In sunny California? I have very fond memories of the 18 months or so I spent in San Francisco, way back. In fact I think I left my heart there, as the song says (or at least the left ventricle). Though I also remember that mean fog rolling in from the sea and giving us a bad case of chattering teeth in the middle of summer – wasn’t it Mark Twain who said the worst Winter he ever had was a summer in SF? I would second that!

    And – oh dear – you’re a huge fan of Greek and Celtic mythologies? I hope you don’t expect a faithful retelling or anything like that. My stories are anything but. I take what some would call provocative liberties with tradition. But I had great fun doing it! And the whole mythic thing is fairly subtle in The Awakening anyway, more of a general resonance you might say, achieved mostly through dreams or inner states of mind. The mythic input – and the magic – is a lot more obvious in the novel I’m working on, based largely on the Merlin-Vivian story.

    All the best to you too, and thanks for the encouragement!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank YOU so much for visiting and sharing. Don’t apologize at all for your timing as I’m way west, in sunny California, which means you posted at a fairly early time for me. haha
    As a fellow erotica author and a HUGE fan of Greek-Roman mythology and Celtic traditions, I’m eager to read your books!
    Best of luck in all you do!


  3. Hi again Mai!

    I’m not sure I’m the best tip-giver here, having just myself started in the game. But this is what I was thinking of trying if sales languish. I’ll paraglide from the top of Mount Everest… No, scratch that, not enough oxygen. In fact I’ll ride an orca bareback across the Atlantic (or do something equally daring and daft) and when I’ve got the ladies and gentlemen of the press banging on my door begging for exclusives, I’ll agree on the condition they introduce me as Mr X, famous author of Y and Z. That should give me enough exposure to hit the bestseller list within a week.


    Liked by 1 person

  4. Thanks so much for hosting Book 1 of my Awakening trilogy, Liz! And sorry to be posting so late in the day, I’ve just finished one of those insanely looonnng days at uni again and have only now found a bit of time to sit down properly.

    A few words of explanation to your blog visitors perhaps. Writing erotica is a brand new experience for me, and since I’ve had this interest in myths and legends from way back, I thought I’d try to weave the two strands together. An obvious place to start was the Greek stories, for pretty much everyone knows them – or knows something of them. And those tales are truly brimming with possibilities, as long as you don’t water them down for younger eyes or ears. Yep, they can score pretty high on the raunchy scale. Are often full of uncompromising stuff. Raw desire. Lust. Pure animal drive. You’ve got everything. Love, sex, treachery, more sex, retaliation, downfall. The Gods can be so unforgiving.

    Fortunately, I’m of a far more benign disposition, so my protagonists fare a lot better. And though I’ve thrown my heroine Helen in a very tight (and horny) spot here, I’m also a sucker for happy endings.

    However, you won’t get to the happy bit in Velvet Trap, which is only the first stage of an elaborate scheme.

    In fact, some might feel the wheels of desire are turning a little slowly to start with. That there’s too much promise in the early chapters, and not enough gasping and mixing of bodily fluids. But that is just the nature of the beast. Sorceresses will not be hurried. They like to get to know their preys and patiently weave their sticky webs. In the dark. Without anyone noticing. Until it’s too late and you suddenly wake up to your enthrallment. And then the real fun starts. And you can’t help yourself. And you have to beg for more!

    I’ve been back in my native Brittany in Western France for a while and when I’m not lecturing, concocting new class material or enduring one of those interminable departmental meetings (big big sigh), I’m working at a new erotica novel. Which, I have to say, is not always easy with my daughter’s pet rats running all over my keyboard and making outrageous additions to the story. I think I’ll add a disclaimer when the time comes (“for any weird twists in the narrative and egregious character flaws, please blame the rats”).

    Anyway, this new novel starts in sunny Sydney and ends – where else? – deep in the heart of Celtic Brittany! There’ll be romance, mystery, humour, thwarted love, a few muscular knights, a lot more legend and magic than in The Awakening, a sprinkling of suitably hot French phrases and – obviously – lots of very steamy scenes.

    The book should come out in a few months, curtesy of Harper Collins Australia again. In the meantime, I hope readers enjoy this little caper on a Queensland island.


    Liked by 1 person

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