Roxanne St. Claire is so generous to the duckies! An extra (and extra hot) excerpt of First You Run. Make sure to read Part One and Part Two first, then read on for some Jungle Boogie…

BONUS Excerpt: Bungle in the Jungle

Maybe the shaman was as fake as Canopy itself, or maybe she was as real as the dawn, but something had happened to Miranda in that crypt. She felt bathed in energy, in a high voltage arc of desire that made her whole body vibrate with need. Holding tight to Adrien as he maneuvered them through branches and palm fronds, her body warred with her head.

Her body wanted to pull him to her for a long, heated kiss the minute they were outside. Or maybe that was just relief and gratitude.

Her head wanted to know what the hell just happened back in that crypt.

He stopped to let her get her breath, his hands squeezing shoulders. “Don’t ever disappear like that again,” he growled. “I mean it.”

“Kiss me.” The words were out before she even realized she’d spoken. “Kiss me.” She yanked him closer. “Now.”

He refused. “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know.” It was the God’s truth. “I just…She just…” How could she explain that the force of her desire for him rocked her? She didn’t want the friendship or protection he’d offered. She wanted sex. Now.

The kind that shook a woman to her core. The kind that made you dizzy and desperate. The kind she’d never had in her life. The kind she knew she’d have with him.

She took his hand and tried to pull him, but he didn’t move. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

“I don’t care where. Somewhere private. Somewhere…” She grabbed his neck and pulled him into her, then kissed him.

Craving and hunger and need mixed with blood-boiling desire, jolting fiery impulses through Miranda’s body, melting her brain, frying her flesh, hardening her breasts, and oozing sweet feminine moisture between her legs.

All she could hear was the insane drumbeat of her blood and heart, and the edgy, desperate, strangled breaths she managed to take in the milliseconds between kisses. Refusing to break the shimmer of contact, she pushed him deeper into the jungle.

With a low moan of surrender he blissfully, deliciously took control of the kiss, buried her breast in the palm of his hand and pulled her into an erection so shockingly hard that it could easily burst seams and zippers with its own strength.

Which was exactly what she wanted it to do.

She sucked the tongue he offered, locking one arm around his neck to control the position of his head and using her other hand to explore the incredible planes of muscle and sinew on his chest. She smelled wet earth mixed with hot man and reason evaporated.

Desperate, she stabbed her hand into his pants and grasped him, pulling a helpless hiss from his mouth and surging her with the thrill of power.

“Miranda. You’re possessed.”

“I am. And if you stop,” she warned in a rasp, “I’ll die.”

She licked the tuft of hair under his lips, stabbing her tongue in the course triangle while rolling her palm over the hard plum of arousal that strained his pants as they tumbled to the warm, wet ground. As she settled into the dirt, he pushed her skirt to her waist.

Grabbing his other hand, she guided his fingers between her legs, pressing his palm against her mound. She opened her mouth to release a tiny howl of pleasure, but he took another fierce kiss, turning her shriek into a soundless moan, sliding his fingers expertly over thin, wet panties, letting her ride and roll and ache, all the while sucking and stroking his delicious tongue.

He broke the kiss, but not the precious contact.

Tearing her panties to the side, he thrust a finger in her, then two, pushing and prodding and pulsing her flesh at precisely the right place. Three fingers plunged inside and his thumb pressed the hood of her clitoris, circling, cajoling, teasing.

At the same time, he kissed her, their teeth cracking, their lips tearing at one another. His other hand dipped inside the front of her dress, a rough palm shocked her tender nipple, squeezed it with two fingers, sending fire straight to the spot he owned with his thumb.

The lightning flashed again, blinding her even though her eyes were closed. The wind roared like a train and her body sparked and whipped against him.

She was lost. Gone. Taken away and dropped into a black hole where her body swirled and folded and burst and dissolved into one long, endless, blissful euphoria that shook her body.

Again and again and again, until finally, blessedly, it stopped.

And she was free of the ache and need, heavy with satisfaction, soaked with her own release.

Her blood cooled, and each breath hurt a little bit less.

Finally she could open her eyes, how they got from the crypt to the ground hazy in her mind. But he was clear. Close and warm and sharply in her focus.

Had she noticed how thick and long his lashes were, or that his golden eyes had flecks of black in them? His hair, unkempt and wild, was pushed back, his temples soaked with sweat, his mouth reddened, swollen, devoured.

This had to be a trance. It was Talíña’s magical, mystical shaman trance of ecstasy. She’d had no control and he had…

Plenty of control.

Her fist closed over an enormous erection, and his fingers remained curled inside her body. She let out one last, shuddering, helpless sigh.

“I wasn’t kidding. I was possessed.”

“I believe you were.” He eased one finger out of her, and she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Softly, sweetly, he stroked the nub he’d just annihilated with his thumb, a secret smile teasing her. “And I believe that if I didn’t satisfy you, you might have spontaneously combusted.”

What did he call what just happened? “I think that woman put a spell on me, and made me completely helpless.”

“Or I did,” he said with a dimpled grin. “But I still wonder why.”

“Why.” Miranda frowned, reality and common sense finally making their return as she finally let go of him. “Why what?”

“Why that spellbinding shaman has ten thousand copies of your book hidden in a basement of one of her fake temples.”