The remainder of Tenwyck’s words faded when a tall, lean, ride-em-cowboy slid into the empty stool to my left. With my eyes cast down, I glanced at his shiny boots and tight denim jeans—narrow at the hem and all the way up his muscular thighs. My heart rate sped and a lonely ache thrummed against my rib cage. Yep, too long without a man.
It struck me at that moment; most women looking for a tumble in the sheets would detect a hot, moist sensation between their legs, a normal precursory to fucking. Yet all I could think of was his strong arms holding me, the sound of his heart beating in sync with mine, and his warm breath against my ear. Perhaps the doc is right. It isn’t about the physical joining of bodies for me, but the fusion of hearts, of minds. I had journeyed down the same road all my life, walked a never-ending path of lost souls looking for acceptance and devotion.
“You counting the hairs on my forearms?” the clear, resonant voice said.
I drew my gaze from his arm and looked into his eyes. Blue. Bluer than a cloudless sky at morning. “Sorry, I drifted there for a minute.”
“You are one, aren’t you . . . a drifter? I mean, not born and raised in Clarence?”
“No, not born in Iowa. I’m from New York, here visiting my aunt Pearl.”
“Pearl, your aunt is Pearl Waldron?”
“Buried her husband not long ago.”
“My Uncle Max, yes.”
“My condolences,” he said, extending his hand. “Name is Cleve, Cleve Porter.”
I felt my lips twitch into a shy smile. “Cleve from Clarence. I like it. It has a . . . a homey, wholesome ring to it.”
Straight, white teeth smiled back. “That’s us, wholesome top to bottom.”
I liked him, and he looked into my eyes as if the feeling could be mutual.
Now came the sticky part, or maybe icky part. Never one to stand on pretense, and having learned long ago to ask for what you want upfront, I drew a silent, deep breath. “So Cleve, you live near by?”
The bartender dropped a newspaper onto the shiny bar in front of Cleve, smothering his answer to my question. “That makes four, or is it five now?” the man said. “Iowa City has one sick son of a bitch on their hands.”
I looked at the headlines and an icy chill ran down my spine. Another Woman Found Dead Along County Road.
Cleve looked up from the newspaper. ““What does a man have to do to get a beer around here?”
“Sorry, Cleve, had a little run on thirst for a minute. The usual?”
The bartender returned with his beer and I spit out the questions hanging on my tongue. “How do they know the killer lives in Iowa City? Have they got a suspect?”
“They don’t know,” Cleve interjected. “And that’s why they don’t have any suspects. Most of the cops in this neck of the woods struggled through Criminology 101.”
“Ah, that’s not fair, man,” the bartender said with a frown. “They’re dealing with a professional, a serial killer who’s been plying his trade for years.”
My mouth went dry and I swallowed, hard. “What is his trade?”
“Knives,” the bartender said. “He likes to carve up his victims before he puts their lights out.”
My stomach flipped. I’d had enough of death and dying; didn’t want to spend my one night on the town talking about knives and serial killers. In fact, the entire conversation had sapped my prior thoughts of passion and love.
I dug in my purse for my billfold and keys, dropped a five-dollar bill on the bar and turned to Cleve. “I best get going. Aunt Pearl will start worrying soon.”
After sliding from the stool, I started for the entrance and called out over my shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”
Before I made it to the truck, footsteps fell behind me. “Wait up a second.”
I drew a deep breath and turned to face Cleve.
“Sorry ‘bout all that talk of killers and knives. Sort of spooked ya, huh?” He took a few steps toward me, his killer smile calming my rattled nerves. A bronze hand came out and warm fingers stroked my cheek. “Before all that stupid talk, you asked me where I lived, and I didn’t have a chance to answer you.”
“I did . . . but I think . . . .”
“Don’t think. Just go with your gut feeling. You came into Clarence for a reason, and I don’t think it was for a glass of beer. Besides, you look more like a wine lady to me. Am I right?”
God, he was a smooth talker, and the most handsome men I’d seen in eons. Under an umbrella of bright stars, the blue eyes sparkled like shiny gems.
“You’re right about the wine. I do prefer Chablis over beer.”
“Let go of me now!” Etta jerked again, releasing her wrists from my grip only for a split second before I grabbed her face. Towering over her, I stared straight down at her. She could handle anything a terrorizing Demon threw at her, but my cruel words hurt her more than I could have ever imagined and it showed. How did this happen? How did I go from giving her temporary asylum so I could get rid of any followers to never wanting to let her go?
Etta stared up at me, her jaw trembling as she tried to fight back the stream of tears running down her olive cheeks. I leaned my face down and softly kissed her lips. Etta’s pulse raced out of control. I crossed a line and misinterpreted her body language. If she didn’t fear me before, she definitely did now. How could I have made such a mistake? How could I think for a minute such a beautiful girl would be attracted to a monster like me?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I moved my lips away and rested my forehead on hers. Etta wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled her lips up to mine. Her breathing labored and her heart was racing, but not because she was scared of me. Etta wanted to kiss me. A spark of electricity ran through my body as she kissed me more deeply. Her lips were so soft and her breath tasted sweet. I could no longer resist nature.
I pulled Etta closer, picking her up. She wrapped her legs around me. With our lips level with each other, my forked tongue slowly parted her lips to meet hers. Etta’s hands caressed the back of my head as they held me to her. My whole body tingled unlike anything I’d felt before and my knees were getting weak. Walking over to my little corner, still kissing Etta passionately, I delicately placed Etta onto the floor. I laid my body off to the side of her, not wanting to hurt her. Holding my weight with one arm, I stroked her cheek with the other hand until it tangled in the back of her hair.
My black claws shadowed against Etta’s creamy olive skin. The contrast should have snapped me back into reality, but the tingling in my body and the warm sweetness of Etta’s breath kept me engrossed in the moment. Etta began to pull her magenta T-shirt up. I quickly grabbed her hand, stopping her. My loins already ached with every kiss, but my heart wouldn’t allow me to push Etta that far whether she wanted it or not.
“What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Etta searched my face for an answer. She was eager to please me. I would have loved to take such a ripe young girl, but I couldn’t.
“That is a major decision with many severe consequences if not thought through, Etta.”
For months, I had annoyed Etta by trying to peep in on her while showering or changing her clothes, but that’s all it was, just my way of trying to get her attention so I could run her out of the house. This was an entirely different situation. Etta pulled herself from under me and wrapped her arms around her knees. I’d made her self-conscious even though it hadn’t been my intention. I may be a monster who feeds off of hatred and fear, but I wasn’t a rapist, nor would I take advantage of a girl who didn’t fully understand the repercussions of such a decision.
“Etta, it’s not that I do not want you in that way, trust me. I’ve fantasized about it, but it is not a simple choice you make in the heat of the moment. Giving me permission to enter you is giving me your soul and by that, you are damning yourself to Hell. The life you know now would end.”
“Then my soul belongs to Alastor?” Concern came over Etta’s face. She thought she already damned her soul. My first instinct insisted I go with my carnal urges. If she already believed herself as damned then I could take her now and she wouldn’t be the wiser. Not only would it release the sexual frustration I’d suffered from for the past five hundred years, it would bind her to me for all eternity. She could never leave my side and I would never have to let her go. But, the look of worry on her face told me that was an existence she didn’t truly want.
“No. He took your innocence from you. You never gave him permission, so therefore your soul remains yours. But trust me, having any Demon own your soul is something you don’t want.”
“But what if I want you to? I don’t understand why, but when you’re around I get this feeling that I know you. I feel safe with you. And when you’re not around, you’re all I think about.” Her words were music to my ears, but a teenage mind could easily warp their feelings. For all I knew, it was just a phase. She could just have a crush on me because I was the ultimate “bad boy” and once she had me in the palm of her hand, she would throw me away.
I knew going into the woods alone was a bad idea. No one would come with me, but I had to pee and they were all too busy sucking face, or passed out. Now I staggered through the dark; stumbling blind, lost, and terrified. Where my feet found purchase I fled. The dark refused to reveal what crashed through the trees behind me.
Moonlight sliced through the night ahead, showing me an opening among the trees. I sprinted the next few yards entering the glen. By the time I reached the center of the meadow I gasped for breath. Turning around to scan the woods behind me, I frantically tried to catch a glimpse of my pursuer. Utter silence shocked my eardrums. Everything had gone quiet.
Laughing, I wondered if I’d just been hearing myself the whole time. I was so stupid, getting so worked up over my own noise.
Then, he entered the grove. My breath stuck in my chest. I couldn’t process why my body suddenly wanted to crawl away from me. Panic. Why was I panicking? Nothing seemed to register. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but sure enough, it was Billy. He appeared exactly as I saw him earlier; there was ample light to see the smooth lines of his features under his choppy hair, and his clothes, so why couldn’t my mind process why my body was on alert? A moment passed before it hit me: when I left the camp he was passed out, drunk.
My brain began to soak in what my body already knew; the curve of his lips as he smiled wasn’t right. His eyes were narrowed in a sinister look. Billy never looked like this. I froze in place. My legs locked beneath me, and my voice choked in my throat. Who is this if it’s not Billy?What’s going on?
He paused a few feet from me. The edge of his presence glided along my skin me like an electric bubble. He took one step forward, immersing me in a warm pocket of tangible liquid energy. I gasped at the sensation; every nerve in my body danced as if on fire. He grabbed my upper arms and by his touch alone muscles deep within my body tightened as though I was in the middle of a climax; my knees gave out. Helpless in his grip, I watched his face while the color drain from his skin – from a golden tan to moon-washed white, and his hair from blond to black, lengthening as the color changed. His clothes melted away and his features thinned though his eyes and lips stayed the same. A scream bubbled up from the depths of my bones only to smother in my throat.
When he pulled me to him, I wanted to fight back. I commanded my limbs to obey me, but they wouldn’t respond; and when his hot breath and lips grazed my neck my body submitted to him completely. It was as though he had control of everything except mind. I was swallowed in defeat.
His hand moved from my arm to my breast and I could do nothing but whimper. His fingers plucked and teased my nipple.
“What are you?” I demanded.
Inches from my face he whispered, “I’m the demon of these woods.”
“Demon” resonated in my mind. Somewhere in my mind logic screamed that this couldn’t be possible.
Before I could panic or struggle away he pulled me closer still and spoke against my lips. “I’ve watched you since you were a child, Alice, from the time you first stepped into these woods with your family. The years have sculpted perfection in your form and I can no longer resist you.”
He kissed me tenderly, sending a flurry of shivers up my spine. My resolve to escape shattered. I didn’t resist, I didn’t want to resist. I opened to him and he drank from my mouth as though he could never satisfy his thirst. As he worked his lips down my chin to my neck, he undressed me with his free hand. I bent to his will, caught in the ecstasy of his touch.
I thought, I should feel shame standing naked before him. It was a distant thought, fading fast beneath the crushing call for satisfaction.
His pale, flawless skin stretched smoothly over his muscles; my mouth watered for the taste and texture of his thick cock. I knelt and looked up to watch him while I teased my tongue along his tip. He studied me with dark eyes, entwining his fingers in my hair. When I took him into my mouth he hissed through gritted teeth and threw his head back. I positioned myself to take him as deeply as possible and found the texture of his thick shaft exquisite. His clean, salty taste teased along the back of my tongue.
He guided my rhythm with one hand and gripped a tree branch with the other. “Touch yourself.”
My fingers responded to his command, and I whined while eagerly massaging my clit; I was so wet.
His fingers tightened in my hair and he pulled me to my feet, snatched my wrist, and took my fingers into his mouth to taste my juices.
He maneuvered us to the ground and positioned himself between my legs, entering by inches while my hips moved to greet him. I was eager to give him what he desired. He found his rhythm thrusting in deep, long strokes. An overwhelming pressure built, threatening to cascade at any moment. When I thought I could no longer bear it the riptide climax crashed through me until I was left screaming into his chest.
The sound of his balls smacking my ass echoed into the night when my cries ebbed between each orgasm. He groaned as his thrusts became more urgent, collapsing on me once his release was finished. We lay in each other’s embrace until our bodies quieted.
Bronwyn turned, her bare feet digging into the forest floor. She had fled so quickly there had been no time for anything as frivolous as shoes. She’d thought only of one thing—to run.
She stilled her feet though her heart pounded. The forest around her was eerily silent. Not even the chirping of birds broke the oppressive gloom. Night was falling. The shadows played around her, mocking her every move.
She clutched the knife in her hand. It was the only thing she could cling to now that the soldiers had found her. Tears blurred her eyes. She’d hidden for fifteen years always knowing that they would come for her one day. Fifteen years hadn’t been long enough.
She didn’t want to die.
The snap of a twig was the only sound that let her know she wasn’t alone.
And she saw them for the first time.
Her heart, pounding just a moment before, felt like it stopped. Two men walked from the woods into the clearing, their clothes soaked in blood. Each had dark hair, as black as any night. They weren’t the soldiers who had come for her. They were something different.
“Don’t move. If you run, I don’t know if they’ll be able to stay in control,” a voice said from behind her. Gillian—the woman who had saved her all those years ago.
“Who are they?” Bronwyn’s words seemed to float out of her mouth.
“You know who they are.”
My dark ones
She had always thought of them that way. She didn’t know their names, but they were familiar. They had come to her in dreams since she was a child. They had roamed the planes of her mind each night. Her friends and later something more.
She’d never felt the touch of a man in her life, but in her dreams she had felt much more. She knew the way their hands felt on her skin. She knew the heat that came off them. She knew what it felt like to be surrounded by them.
In her dreams she’d submitted to their every desire. She’d spread her legs and welcomed them into her body. They had taken her in every way possible, sinking their cocks in and making her theirs. More than the pleasure they had brought her, they had touched her soul.
In her dreams she was never alone.
But in her dreams neither of her lovers had fangs.
“Vampires?” Bronwyn asked though she feared she knew the answer.
“And something more. My brothers will one day rule the Unseelie Fae. All of the dark things of the worlds are in their souls.” Gillian put a hand on her shoulder as the twins began move forward, their limbs loose with grace.
They didn’t walk. They stalked, their eyes never leaving her. She stared at the one on the right. He somehow seemed larger than his twin though she realized it was a trick of her eye. The one on the right seemed harsher, as though the world had taken the softness out of him and left his soul with nothing but hunger. Prey. She was prey. She was being hunted and she wasn’t sure if they planned to eat her or ravish her.
She knew which one she would prefer.
She held her ground though there was a part of her that screamed to run. They split up, each going a different direction. They were working to make sure she couldn’t get away.
“What do they want?”
She could almost hear the satisfaction in Gillian’s voice. “You, dear. You’re their mate. Why do think I’ve kept you safe all these years? You’re their bond mate, the only woman in all the planes who can bring them to their power.”
They stalked forward, flanking her. She clenched her fists as fear took over. Desire was there, too. Beautiful. They were beautiful to her eyes, but she’d been taught the Unseelie were vicious animals. She was a Seelie princess. The light ran through her veins.
So why was darkness calling her now?
If they caught her, they would drag her down and sink their fangs and cocks deep inside. They would claim her and she would never see the light again.
Bronwyn stood in the middle of the forest and wondered if she even wanted to.
For Rebecca, Halloween has always been special, an opportunity for her to cast off her sensible, ordinary self and assume a new look and a new identity: someone extraordinary, sensual and seductive.
When Halloween night finds her stranded by a breakdown in a seedy motel nearly a hundred miles from her friend's annual party, she's terribly frustrated and disappointed. Then she discovers that her room is haunted by the invisible but unquestionably virile ghost of a rake who seduced local women nearly half a century earlier. Tony teaches her that pleasure and pain aren't always opposites, and that terror can serve as an aphrodisiac.
What the hell, I could still dress up. Even if there was no one to see me.
This year I was going to be Marie Antoinette. I'd found the dress in a book of theatrical patterns, and spent many Saturdays working on the complicated layers and delicate gathers. It was lavender satin, with fringes of crystal beads and ivory lace trim.
I shucked my bra and after a moment's hesitation, my panties, too. With the greatest care, I unzipped the garment bag and slipped the gown off the hanger. The many-layered skirt could almost stand by itself. I stepped into the gown’s embrace, sliding my arms into the flounced, off-the-shoulder sleeves, then reached behind me to lace the bodice tight.
Marie would have had a bevy of maids to fasten her buttons and bows, but this pattern, designed for the stage, was more practical. A pair of satin cords criss-crossed the back, from mid-spine to just below the waist, making it easy to create the body-hugging effect the gown required, but also straightforward to disrobe for changes of scene.
I had planned to pin up and powder my hair, adding baubles and bows in an imitation of Marie Antoinette's signature pouf. I'd also brought the make-up I needed to hide my freckles and produce a fashionable pallor. At the moment, though, that seemed like too much effort. I took another sip of whisky then turned to the mirror.
The costume worked its magic. I was astonished at how regal I looked, and how desirable. The bodice pinched my waist to tiny dimensions, and forced my breasts upwards. The square-cut neckline drew attention to my swelling flesh, barely hiding my nipples. In fact, they were not hidden at all. Though I'd lined the top with muslin as the pattern specified, the tight nubs were clearly visible through several layers of fabric.
I cradled my breasts and used my thumbs to trace circles around those sensitive buds. With each cycle, the spring of tension in my cunt wound tighter. A light flick of my thumbnail sent electricity down my spine and triggered spasms of pleasure. I worried briefly that the juices trickling out of my cunt would spoil the satin. But after all, what did it matter? There was no one to see me tonight, no one to please but myself.
“You certainly do look sexy. Like something right out of de Sade.”
“What? Who...?” I whirled around in confusion, my heart slamming against my ribs. The voice had been close, right next to my ear. Yet the room was empty, unchanged. The same rippling walls, the same thread-bare carpet, the same rusty stains on the ceiling. The rumpled bed where I'd had my tantrum. The almost-empty glass on the dresser.
Ah, the liquor. I must be more drunk than I thought. I turned back to the mirror, searching my face for signs of intoxication, and yelped as something, someone, pinched my nipples.
“Hey! That hurts.” Indignation overwhelmed fear.
“It does, at first. But afterwards, it changes, doesn't it? Afterwards, it feels quite delicious.” I stared at my image, mouth hanging stupidly open, as invisible hands caressed my breasts Strong hands, gentle hands, hands that seemed to know exactly how to make me shiver with delight. “That's what most people don't understand about pain. It's the gateway to the most exquisite pleasure.”
The voice was a melodious baritone, rich, deep, almost hypnotic. “You fear the pain, but that's foolish. You must surrender to the pain. Let it move through you. Let it wash away your doubts and your inhibitions. Let it open you to ecstasy.”
Firm, unseen lips nibbled at my neck. A warm, wet tongue traced the curve from below my ear to my exposed shoulder, then down to the hollow at my throat. With each touch, extravagant new species of pleasure bloomed in my sex. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, savouring the delicate caresses and the amazing sensations that they triggered in my cunt.
Then suddenly, something sharp pierced the rounded flesh of my shoulder. I screamed, surprise heightening the agony that gripped me, and tore myself away from the grasp of the unseen intruder.
My reflection made me gasp in horror and wonder. Droplets of blood oozed from several wounds on my shoulder, wounds arranged in the distinctive semi-circular shape of a bite.
I felt an arm around my waist, pulling me backwards against the unmistakable bulk of a male body. I struggled against his seemingly supernatural strength.
“Let me go!” There were fingers at my back, unlacing and loosening the bodice, working their way into my top.
“Is that really what you want?” A hand snaked into the opening I had left in the voluminous skirts—a slight modification I had made to the pattern. After all, what was the point of wearing a sexy costume if it made you inaccessible?
Cool fingertips wandered up the inside of my thigh, smearing the damp of my secretions into my bare skin. My clit ached in anticipation. A fresh flow of lubrication made my thighs damper still. “I think that you actually want something else.” He found his way into my folds and began massaging the swollen bud at my centre.
I moaned and arched backward, my body taking over while my mind whirled in confusion and disbelief.
“Who—what —are you?” He slid two fingers deep into my sopping cunt, making me writhe.
“Does it matter?” Now his thumb beat rapidly against my clit, while his fingers stroked my depths. His other hand pumped my breast in the same rhythm. I felt the first shimmers of orgasm, far away like heat lightning on the prairie horizon.
“I am who I am, and I know what you want. What you need.” He captured one swollen nipple and squeezed, waking echoes of his previous assault. I yelped and twisted, trying to get away but succeeding only in impaling myself more completely on the hand in my cunt. “Let yourself go, Rebecca,” he murmured close to my ear. Lost in a fog of arousal and terror, I hardly wondered that he should know my name.
A dozen years ago LISABET SARAI experienced a serendipitous fusion of her love of writing and her fascination with sex. Since then she has published two single author short story collections and six erotic novels, including the BDSM classic Raw Silk. Dozens of her shorter works have been released as ebooks and in print anthologies. She has also edited several acclaimed anthologies and is currently responsible for the altruistic erotica series COMING TOGETHER PRESENTS.
Lisabet holds more degrees than anyone needs from prestigious universities who would no doubt be embarrassed by her chosen genre. She loves to travel and currently lives in Southeast Asia with her highly tolerant husband and two cosmopolitan felines. For more information on Lisabet and her writing visit Lisabet Sarai's Fantasy Factory (http://www.lisabetsarai.com) or her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com).
Genna still had at least three more carloads to bring over from the house, but she could tackle that in the morning. She’d forwarded her mail to a PO box in Palma Ceia, over twenty minutes south and a pain in the ass, but she didn’t want to risk Lester’s“associates” finding her too soon. If they’d even bother looking for her.
She fell into an exhausted sleep and dreamed about a large, wolf-like dog, much like Ivan.
Only this massive animal possessed Bruin’s butterscotch eyes. Where Ivan’s coat was black and dusted with silver,this enormous beast was dark brown with traces of black around his piercing eyes.
In her dream she laid in bed and watched him pad toward her, suddenly shifting and morphing into Jeremy Bruin—naked and throbbingly erect—and he crawled onto her bed.
Damn,what a fantastic dream! She felt his hands hot against her skin, and decided it was fine to have erotically charged wet dreams about the boss as long as she didn’t do anything about them. She’d always had vivid dreams, but this was beyond her wildest imagination.
His lips scorched her flesh, his teeth gently bit at her pebbled nipples, and she squirmed beneath his massive form as his throbbing cock brushed against her leg.
Real life sex had never been this good with Lester.
Genna groaned with need as he lifted his head from her breasts. He yanked her legs apart, diving between them, his lips and tongue working at her mound, flicking her clit. She gasped, trying to squirm against him but he gripped her thighs with his massive hands and held on tight, forcing her to stay still as he mercilessly brought her to climax three times in quick succession.
When she lay gasping and spent he effortlessly flipped her over, driving his enormous cock home in one hard thrust, making her cry out.
He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her to her knees as he fucked her from behind.
“Mine,” he growled, his other hand reaching around to cup her throat and pull the back of her neck against his lips.
She didn’t respond, too busy enjoying the feel of his large cock bottoming out, stretching her in a way Lester’s small tool never could.
He jerked her body, hard, against him.“Mine!” he growled again, his teeth raking against the back of her neck,sending erotic shivers through her very core. “Say it.”
“Yours!” she gasped.
His tongue traced a slow path down her spine as he stopped thrusting, holding himself still deep inside her.
“You’ll never want anyone else, will you?” he growled.
Fuck no, not if the dreams were this good! “No,” she whispered.Hell, it was just a dream, who cared what she said as long as he started banging her again.
His hands dropped to her hips and he gripped her, hard, as his pelvis shot forward, taking her even deeper than before.
Doggy style, how ironic?
She stifled a laugh. Even in a dream it was rude to snicker at the guy fucking you. Especially when he was dream-fucking you so well.
He folded his body around hers and pumped into her, impaling her very depths. His breath, hot and heavy on the back of her neck, made her shiver. “Then I claim you…now.” He bit into the back of her shoulder as he rammed into her one final time, his arms around her hips,shooting his hot seed deep within.
She cried out not from pain, but from the unexpected orgasm that nearly ripped her apart from the inside out. She never came like this! Holy crap, this is fucking great!
Panting and trembling, she collapsed to the bed. He was already standing, looking at her with a strange expression.
“Go back to sleep. This is just a dream.”
Genna weakly nodded. “Of course it’s a dream, dumb fuck. I know that.” Holy hell, his cock was still huge.
Before her eyes he transformed into the dog again, silently padding out of her bedroom. She dropped her head to her pillow, content and ready to resume boring sleep when a long, loud howl outside her patio startled her eyes open.
“What the fuck?”
She climbed out of bed and peeked through the window. Outside, the dog tipped its head back and howled again, long and eerie. A moment later, two more howls in response from a few blocks over, it sounded like.
Wow.What a dream! Okay, so it felt like she had come—and was sore from being fucked—but she’d been asleep and the sound of that dog outside was what triggered it. And the soreness was most likely due to all the moving.
Genna sat on the bed and closed her eyes. She felt exhausted. If she could dream like that every night she had no reason to get involved with anyone.
She reached behind her, touching a sore spot on her shoulder, where the dream-Bruin had bit her. She felt something there, a raised bump, maybe? But it was already feeling better. Probably a damn mosquito. If she’d really been bitten she’d hurt like hell, right?
When her alarm clock went off at seven the next morning, Genna wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. But she needed to get into the habit of getting up for work, and then memories of the dream snapped her wide awake.
She took a hot shower, her sore muscles protesting another day of moving and organizing. Out of curiosity she wiped the steam from the mirror and turned to look at the spot on her shoulder. An odd pattern of bumps, no longer sore even, but probably from a damn mosquito repeatedly feasting on her bare shoulder all night long.
That’ll teach me to sleep naked.
Comment with your email for your chance to win one of the Grand Prizes shown here: http://www.im-no-angel.com/contests.html. Two commenters will be chosen to win either a Signed, print copy of Good Will Ghost Hunting: Demon Seed or the ebook Hernando Heat by Tymber Dalton
Gabby turned her car down Franklin Street, and her anxiety soared to an all-new level. She’d gotten dressed per instructions and rushed out the door. A glance at the dashboard clock said ten minutes until her deadline, and she still wondered what the hell she was doing. Every possible scenario she’d imagined led to nothing but more questions. What would Thomas do to her if she went through with this?
Surely he would touch her, but how far did he intend to push her in one night? Her mind raced with myriad possibilities as fear gripped her so tight she found herself strangling the steering wheel.
Get a grip Gabby. This is what you’ve been waiting and wishing for, isn’t it? A gamut of emotions coursed through her; fear, excitement, arousal, curiosity, and...her arms trembled...more fear. A bark of nervous laughter pressed through her lips. Angel had assured her repeatedly that nothing bad would happen to her, and that Thomas could be trusted with her safety.
She’d learned that he held a considerable position in the community and commanded a generous amount of respect from the members of the club. Those assurances had been enough for her to get this far, but as she searched the numbers on every mailbox in the dark, she considered giving up and returning home.
No one would think less of her if she wasn’t the right type for Thomas’s unorthodox demands. Who could blame her for wanting to get to know a man before letting him dominate her? Yeah, too late for that Gabby. Whether you like it or not, he’s been dominating you since you first heard his voice. Gabby sighed.
She spied the number three hundred and ten on a black mailbox encased in brick and quickly turned to the right into the drive. A wrought iron gate stood open as if awaiting her arrival. She slowly drove beyond it and up the winding drive. The house loomed in front of her, large and old. If this was indeed Thomas’s house, he had very expensive taste. She’d guess the stately brick home was built in the late 1800s and had been restored sometime in the last decade.
The few gaslights that were lit out front did little other than cast shadows across the footpath that led to the front door. Compared to her modest uptown townhouse she was way out of her league. She parked her car close to the walkway and strained to see through the inky darkness. No other cars were in sight.
She shook her head and banned the negativity from her mind. Just because she didn’t see any other vehicles didn’t mean they weren’t there. These houses typically had hidden garages around back.
Gabby took a deep breath and rested her forehead on the steering wheel for a minute, releasing the air one short puff at a time. If she didn’t calm down, she’d be shaking like a leaf by the time she got inside.
Get a grip, Gabby. You decided you’re going to do this so buck up already.
She stepped from the car and carefully balanced herself, wondering once again why she’d worn ridiculously high-heeled shoes. Because they’re pretty, that’s why. She walked to the front door and automatically reached for the doorbell. Lucky for her, she caught herself in mid-air seconds before she pressed the button. He’d said to enter the residence unannounced and proceed instead of waiting for an invitation to come in. She struggled with her social conditioning as she complied with his directions. Nerves jumped in her belly at the thought of walking into the wrong house and finding herself in more trouble than she could handle.
She opened it noiselessly and peeked through a crack in the door, half afraid someone would snatch her. Just inside she spied a long narrow foyer leading to what she presumed would be the living area. Gabby crept through the door and quietly closed it behind her. She tiptoed toward the back of the house, trying not to click her heels on the hardwood floor.
The room opened up into an inviting space filled with comfortable furniture and a large screen television as the focal point. Where she’d expected expensive antique furniture, she found a comfortable space that looked lived in, especially the large overstuffed couch that dominated the center of the room.
Gabby glanced at her watch and realized she had about thirty seconds to get in place, or she’d be late. She hustled over to the coffee table, set her purse and keys down and stepped to the end of the couch as instructed. Her body curved around the large rolled end as she wiggled into place—head down, ass up. Nervous didn’t begin to describe how she felt. She took a deep breath and lifted her skirt on the exhale. Cold air swept across her naked bottom causing goose flesh to erupt across her skin. Gabby squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to be afraid. She’d followed his instructions to the letter despite the fact entering a strange home, where she now had her bare butt and pussy exposed to anyone who walked into the room, was by far the craziest thing she’d ever done. She prayed it would indeed be Thomas who found her.
Minutes ticked by. She squirmed and fidgeted against the sofa, beyond restless and antsy. If she had a lick of common sense, she’d leave. Go back to her own house, her safe life and reconsider why this had seemed like a good idea. She should have her head--
A large, warm hand caressed her right butt cheek, sending a hard shudder up her spine. Gabby sucked in her breath. Her adrenaline spiked. She bit at her lip and strained for some sign that it was indeed Thomas who stood behind her and not a complete stranger or worse—a crazed maniac.
I don't care who you are, this is some sick stuff right here.
Hi!! I'm KevaD, and here's a sneak peek at an excerpt from "Catherine's Toys III," the third installment of my gay horror serial due to be released by Noble Romance Publishing October 31st. This is definitely not your grandmother's version of romance.
The fourth and final installment, "Catherine's Toys IV," is scheduled for release November 28th.
As a treat for your trick bag, I'll randomly select one comment to receive a $10.00 Amazon.com gift coupon. So, thank you reading, and an extra thanks for your comments.
Catherine suspects Larry the security guard suspects she's the one sexually assaulting hospital patients.
Casey just wants to have sex with somebody. Please?
And if he gets to kill that "somebody" afterward, all the better.
Catherine comes up with a plan that will take care of both of their needs.
He'd dutifully parked in the shadows as Catherine instructed, and she carefully surveyed the lot. An interior light of a car three rows away flashed on. An older man with a pot belly cleverly hiding his belt buckle exited and stood. He was clad in a hospital security guard uniform.
"There," she said, and pointed. "Larry's relief." Catherine reached behind the seat and retrieved the pointed, sharpened shears Casey used to trim flowers. She handed Casey the weapon. "Kill him," she hissed in a stream through her teeth. "Do it now before he makes it out of the lot, before he's away from the cars."
"What!" he screeched, the shears jiggling in his grasp.
Openhanded, Catherine slapped Casey on the back of the head. "I don't mean for real, dipshit." Not this time anyway. "In your mind. We're playing a game." She closed her hand over his and guided the clippers upward. "A very hot, steamingly hot, sexy game of control," she growled deep in her throat, her nipples hardened and ached in anticipation. "You want your own toy, don't you? You want to be able to prove to Larry how much of a man you are, don't you?"
"Well then," she tightened her grip on his fist. "Kill that fat bastard!" Catherine slammed Casey's hand downward. The vinyl stretched inward, then surrendered to the force with a rip of defeat; the padding molded around the rigid steel penetrating the depths of the folds. Excitement moistened her thighs, she ran her tongue back and forth over her dry lips, her breaths drew short and pointed. She jerked his hand containing the twin blades up again, and hammered the slender steel into the seat once more; the faint vibration tingled up her arm, through her breasts and pooled in delight between her legs as her ass muscles quivered.
Casey jammed the scissors into the seat time after time, Catherine's hand on his along for the joyous ride. Moans of ecstasy oozed from his mouth.
Her stomach rolled, and pulled and twisted the physical longing in her loins like taffy. Her heartbeat pounded her ears, her chest imploded and begged for release. She needed a good fucking, right fucking now.
"Let's do him, Casey. Pull out your cock and fuck the son-of-a-bitch. You cut his throat open, Casey, now fuck him in it. Do it for me."
Little grunts rippled from Casey as he drove the shears into the seat, his dick swollen under his trousers.
She better hurry and do something or Casey would come in his pants before she guided him into their victim. There had to be something to lube him up. She tossed open the glove box. A plastic baggie of condiments rested like the Holy Grail amongst miscellaneous papers and napkins.
Catherine snatched the shears from Casey and threw them over the seat; the steel clattered on the metal floor. "Pull out your dick," she commanded, and unzipped his trousers.
Casey did as ordered and even more. He undid the button and slid his pants and underwear to his ankles. Catherine grabbed a packet of ketchup and held it for Casey to see before ripping it open. She squeezed the thick juice over his cock.
"His blood's all over you." She gripped his erection and worked the sauce over his taut skin from the smooth cockhead to the thin hairs of his nest. The shaft throbbed, precum dribbled and mixed with the victim's salad dressing.
Catherine sucked and licked her fingers clean of the tart and acidic juice.
"Now fuck him. Fuck him in the throat, hard as you can."
He made himself not look at the bodies and the pool of blood on the rooftop behind Kaysana. Keep your shit focused. Zone them out. Zen, man, zen. Took him a few hard seconds but he managed. He had to. Their lives depended on this diversion, on it giving Holly time to find a vehicle. The difficult bit was keeping Kaysana in a mental space where she forgot.
“Last time we kissed those zombies zeroed in on us like flies to honey.” Or flies to blood.
She didn’t answer. At the touch of his hand on her shoulder, she sighed. Quivering with need already? Her smart, thinking side was clearly a long way away. He spread his fingers on her warm skin and smiled.
If not for the effects of the lust plague this ploy would never have worked. The pesky mob of zombs waiting below to rip them apart weren’t exactly love potion ingredients.
Sten pressed his palm on her nape, made her kneel, turned the leash around and around his fist until his knuckles brushed the angle of her throat and jaw. He bent down, staring at her. Her eyes went all gooey, the pupils dilating, gorgeous -- if he could’ve bottled that he would’ve.
“Let’s kiss,” he murmured.
The feel of her soft lips under his near unhinged him. Their hot breaths mingled as he explored her mouth. At first passive, then she struggled a little and tried to pull away. His hands at her neck and throat held her to him. “No,” he whispered, licking the corner of her mouth. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”
Then he crushed her resistance, shoving his tongue between her lips, taking over her mouth with his while his fingers sought a hold in her hair. He turned his hand to screw those fingers into the roots, wrapping hair about each finger -- harder, tighter. When she gasped and her mouth fell open he knew he had her. He kept at her. Not until she moaned uncontrollably into his mouth did he let up, and slowly lift away.
Her eyes were shut. Her mouth was open still, air sucking in and out with little wanting gasps.
“Beautiful.” Still holding her head, he glanced over the side. Six or ten Raised Men were down there, walking about, staring up, growling, some of them backing up to see better. Not enough. He needed to crank up the effect to attract the rest. He studied Kaysana. “What are we lacking?” Her eyelids fluttered open. Such promise in those eyes. As if she expected and needed more.
“The fantasy needs to be stronger. Yes?” But she didn’t, or couldn’t answer. He’d left her lost inside her thoughts. “Let’s try something better, hotter. Trial and error.” He smiled down at her then let go of the leash and traced her lower lip with his fingers.
Gravity and the curves of her body showed his hand the way to the silky skin of her neck. He hooked his fingers under the neckline of the top and pulled it down one shoulder, then the other, making the top slide. He scooped each breast free from the top, then went down on one knee and paid homage to each nipple -- licking and sucking them until the tips hardened.
By then she had a hand wrapped around his wrist.
“No.” Yet she shivered. Her chest heaved enough that her nipple pushed in and out of his mouth. One last bite at her nipple and he straightened, grinning at the squeak he’d elicited.
“No?” He pried her hand loose, took both her wrists to her back. That alone made Kaysana arch toward him. “That’s my girl. Your mouth says no but your body says yes.”
From the sounds below, the crowd of Raised Men grew. He narrowed his eyes. It was working. With one hand clamping her wrists at the small of her back, he let the leash dangle down her front so it tapped against her mound, then reached around her buttocks and between her legs to pull the leash through her legs. A few loops about her wrists and a quick knot. There. Bound nice and firm.
The way she sank her teeth into her lip and swayed, told him she liked this. He let his hand follow the leather of the leash, across belly and all the way down to where it split her labia and sank up into her slit. Moisture leaked around the leather onto his fingers. As if he had forever to do this, he travelled his fingers up and over her little engorged clit then back along her slit to her anus, watching her reaction -- every whimper and moan and quiver.
“You’re so fucking wet already. I’d like to sit here all day teasing this clit.” He gave it a few taps and trapped it between his fingers, watched her eyelids drift half-shut and her tongue emerge between those plump lips. Kaysana made a small sound halfway between a whimper and a moan.
From the sounds, men were scrambling up the building. Five cartridges left in the shotgun at his feet. He prayed that’d be enough. Those below didn’t seem clever enough to climb well. Lucky, damn lucky, their brains were in short supply.
She so tempted him. He moved in, let his tongue find the way around the whorl of her ear, and whispered, “If I finger fuck you, do you think half the city’ll arrive?”
She blinked, swallowed, shut her eyes entirely.
“I’d like to take you here, fuck you on the roof, in front of the world.” He cupped her chin.
The whole body shudder that ran through her, rocking her chin in his hand, sent crazy signals to his groin. His balls tightened.
He turned the shotgun so the trigger was close, and resumed the kiss. His fingers went back on her clit, his thumb rocking and squeezing to bring her off. The suck and pull of his lips on hers echoed what he did below. She moaned, then her body tensed as she climaxed. He moved her so her mouth rested on his shoulder.
Damn. Fascinated he watched her every reaction as her torso undulated in waves. He thrust a finger in deeper while his thumb stayed on her clit. She bit him, screaming quietly at the back of her throat, her groin pumping onto his hand. Then she crumpled, her forehead slipping down the front of his chest.
As if he’d had been catapulted onto the roof, a man appeared -- arms outstretched, eyes alight with orange fire, his rot-blackened hands reached…then Sten’s shotgun blew him away. Blood misted the air. He screamed, spun out into mid-air, and fell.
Snick snick. The shotgun’s barrel rotated, loaded a round.
I plan to bring The Lust Plague out on Smashwords and Amazon.
"Ghost Stories! Oh, James, how absolutely wonderful. Might we read some right now?"
"Of course. Let's read now, in the dusk, before Hanover lights the lamps. It will be wonderfully spooky. I hear this book is the most terrifying volume in the shops just now."
She pretended a shiver and they began the first story. She read aloud as he listened. The ghost tale began in a couple's parlor. Wind was dashing rain against the windowpane and a black fog was driving in from the wood.
"Every moment," she read, "the view without grew more and more de-so-la--"
"Desolate. Do you know what that means?"
"Yes, in a way. Deserted. Forbidding."
She nodded and continued. The young husband of the ghost tale bade his wife come away from the glass, but she refused. When finally she turned away, her face was pale, her nerves unstrung.
"Darling," said the wife of the tale. "Isn't there a superstition--of course it's only a superstition--that when somebody is walking over your grave, you shudder invo-lun--"
"Tonight," Lily read on, "somebody is walking over my grave--and somehow, somehow, I feel as if it will not be long before I fill it."
James chuckled softly. How charming she was, getting into the spirit of the reading, voicing the disquieted wife with perfect drama.
"Nonsense," the husband replied on the page. She did the husband's voice with a hilariously gruff tone he sincerely hoped was not based on him. "Your nerves are unstrung, dearest. Come away now."
At that point in the story, the wife began to stagger around and tremble in quite the most frightening way. The husband rushed from the room and the possessed wife gave a shriek and cry. James could feel Lily's own nerves draw up tight as she read the chilling prose. She was fully engrossed in the story when some imp inside him decided to use a dangling ribbon from her hair to tickle the back of her arm. Lily gave her own shriek, one that no doubt rivaled the shriek of the unfortunate woman in the story, and leaped headlong into James' lap. He caught her, quaking with laughter, as Hanover came running in ready to take arms. He took one look at the entangled pair and his expression changed from alarm to embarrassment.
"Er…pardon me, sir and miss, I'll just be--"
"No, Hanover," James said with a grin. "Come in and light the lamps, please. All of them. We have been reading ghost stories and I'm afraid Lily is quite spooked."
She pushed away from his lap with a frown. "I was not at all spooked until you played that silly trick on me. I thought it was a ghoul come to breathe down my neck."
"A ghoul? You wound me."
A giggle finally escaped as she smoothed the skirts of her gown. "You are a rascal, James. You pretend you are not, but you are through and through, and it's a true farce to put forward your stern, serious face when you are nothing but a lark underneath."
James looked at her thoughtfully in the new lamplight, barely noticing as Hanover left and closed the door behind him. He was captured by the glow of her skin, the twinkle in her eye. She flirted with him. More than that, she had figured him true. The sober man who was a secret rogue and profligate.
He pretended pique. "My stern, serious face is supposed to impress you."
She snorted inelegantly. "Each day it impresses me less. You are not the hard man you pretend to be." She slid a look at him. "I mean, well…I do not mean to speak disrespectfully."
He knew he was staring, unnerving her, probably. He couldn't help it. She spoke so candidly for once, it completely undid his reserve. He wanted to do the same before the moment passed, before the walls went up again between them. "I want you to speak openly, even disrespectfully if you wish, Lily. Tell me what type of man I am, if you know it."
She swallowed and looked away, blushing.
"I…I do not know. I do not pretend to know. I was just teasing. I'm sorry."
"No." He took her bare hand in his, an impulsive gesture that he could see shocked her, but she didn't pull away. "No, I am not chastising you. It is only that you are right. I am not a hard man. There is a lot in my--my heart--" He stopped. Would he start spouting poetry now? He felt wildly out of control. At any moment he feared she would pull away and bolt, but she didn't.
"I know," she said instead, quietly. "I can tell there is a lot in your heart. There is a lot in my heart too. I only wish…"
She looked down, biting her lip. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to pull her close and embrace her. Her hand tightened in his.
"What do you wish, Lily?"
"I cannot say. I cannot."
"Tell me, please."
"I only wish… I wish truly, in my heart, that she--that she would never come back. And that her unfortunate sister will take years and years to marry." She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "I know it is a terrible thing to say. I wish you happiness and a resolution to this snarl you're in, but I can't stop feeling that way, I just can't--"
Her words cut off, smothered by his impulsive kiss. He tasted salty tears as he pressed his lips to hers with the intensity of desire too long denied. He held her close, slanting his head over hers, kissing her and then parting her lips gently to tease her. She melted against him, so sweet and trusting. He drank in her soft gasps and felt the small tremble before she pulled away. She looked down at her lap in silence. He still held her hand, finding it too difficult to let go.
He leaned away with a regretful sigh. "I am terribly sorry. To force myself on you that way--it was grossly inappropriate. Forgive me."
She touched her lips. He swallowed hard. "Please what?"