Reptilian Rapture

By Foxxi Smolder

Carmen loves her job as a reporter at the Metro Gazette, a prestigious publication run by the iron fist of editor Veronica Lennox. But when she starts to suspect that her boss may be hiding an alien identity, Carmen might find she's sitting on the scoop of the century - if she can escape Veronica's lustful clutches first!

It all starts with an innocent piece on conspiracy theories that Carmen pitches to Veronica, but her boss's reaction to the word "reptilian" arouses her suspicions. Supposedly, reptilians can disguise themselves as humans and use hypnotic suggestion to sway their victims. A reporter like Carmen can't pass up the chance to investigate, but if her theory is true, she might be in some very sexy trouble with her very scaly boss!

Read on for over 7000 words of steamy, scaly, girl-on-girl smut!

Excerpt:

Tight-lipped, Carmen tried to wrench her head backward, to shake off the paralysis gripping her whole body. She didn't even manage to break eye contact.

Veronica sighed. "Reptilians don't eat people. What kind of empire devours the source of all its free labor? My diet is very similar to your own, except I don't go quite as hard on the kale shakes. No," she went on, leaning forward, "my appetite isn't for meat and bone. It's for your energy. For such a short-lived race, you humans give off loads of it. We've had plenty of time to study, and we've learned human energy is easiest to feed on during moments of extreme cardio-respiratory exercise... especially when the brain is also engaged in throwing electrical impulses, and the body in releasing oxytocin and dopamine. The resulting discharge of bio-energy is just fantastic for satisfying our cravings."

Carmen must have looked blank, because Veronica rolled those slitted eyes again.

"Sex," she clarified, then grinned wickedly. "We reptilians just love to feed on sexual energy."

"Y-you're joking," Carmen said, uncertain.

"Not this time," Veronica countered. She began to undo the buttons on her blazer, one at a time, as Carmen watched her scale-covered skin be revealed inch by inch. When the rise of her cleavage began to show, she shot a lascivious glance at the reporter transfixed in front of her. "And I'm starting to get hungry for my next meal."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foxxi Smolder
• Release date: Oct 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463410202

Foxxi Smolder

Confirmed bacheloress by day and scribbler of indecent material by night, Foxxi Smolder has been writing sweet, smutty short stories since 2015. She is dedicated to bringing her readers works that embrace kink without sacrificing sex positivity or a sense of humor. When not writing, she enjoys tending her rose garden, doing Tarot readings for her cats, and adding to her collection of fainting couches.

Book preview

Reptilian Rapture

© 2019 Foxxi Smolder

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Reptilian Rapture

By Foxxi Smolder

Movement in the offices of the Metro Gazette never ceased. There was always a door opening or slamming shut, always another harried reporter rushing down the hall en route to some vitally important task. Hustle and bustle were commonplace. So was the white noise of writers chatting to each other, fingers tapping at keyboards, desk drawers being rifled through for notes or newspaper clippings. Underneath all the flurry ran a current of energy, invisible but strongly felt. This was the native habitat of the journalist. Here, the truth was told: objective, unadorned truth, and on a deadline.

That's what Carmen Kennedy loved about working there. Or at least that's what she told herself over and over again, especially on days like this, where she couldn't even finish a sentence without being interrupted by something. First it was an errant knock from the secretary bringing her burnt coffee, which she accepted, then the sound of the guy from the entertainment section cursing as the fax machine misfired on him – again – then her typewriter jammed, which, why did she even keep that thing around? She was living in the 21st century, for god's sake.

Carmen slammed her hand down on her desk. No more distractions. She ripped the page from her typewriter, threw it across her office, and whipped out her laptop. The machine was sleek and efficient, and its deep chime upon startup always set her mind at ease.

On her desktop was a text file labeled, obscurely, RepCon; it was a backup of her notes from last weekend's interview. She surveyed them critically. This was for her piece on niche communities in the city. A few weeks ago she'd pitched