by Various
Once she had licked him clean, Erik grabbed something from the nightstand and sat back, propped on an arm with his legs wide and straight. Michaela bit her lip as she watched him rip open a packet with his teeth and roll a condom over himself, her stomach fluttering when he gave her a commanding leer. She crawled over to him, straddled his hips and felt his cock press at her tight opening. A whimper escaped her throat. It had been ages since she’d been with someone and her body cried out to be filled.
Erik slid a hand up her back. ‘Do you want to feel me inside you?’
She rocked against him and nodded.
He gripped her waist and stopped her hips moving. ‘I want to hear you say it.’
‘Please, Erik. I need you.’
Erik took hold of himself and pushed into her. Michaela cried out in both pain and pleasure as his sudden ingress stretched her. She rolled her hips, her body tingling from how amazing it felt to have him inside. Their hips continued to rock together as Erik lay back, taking Michaela with him, his hands grasping her ass, spreading her wider, until she circled him with her hips and rode him. Their mouths meshed, moans echoing in the cavernous depths of one another.
Sitting up, Erik pressed a hand against the small of her back as she bounced on him, whimpering and moaning. His hand cupped her breast and she slipped a thumb in his mouth, which he sucked before taking her nipple between his lips. Michaela’s arm wrapped around his head as he suckled her, her cries growing louder when his hand found its way back to her ass and urged her faster. She bucked wildly against him, something rising inside as emotion began getting the better of her. Tears filled her eyes as warmth uncoiled from her spine and fluttered downwards, clenching around him in climax.
He took her mouth, tasting the salt that had escaped her eyes and slipped down her cheek as she came, and slowly tilted her back, bracing her weight with his arm. He pulled himself from her and slowly re-entered before leaning down to kiss her again. Pressing both of her legs back, he began thrusting hard and deep from a kneeling position. The room was once again filled with a litany of her cries. She yielded to him, submitting by keeping her hands away and letting him fuck her however he wanted. She felt the muscles in his thighs as her feet brushed across them. He leaned in, grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head, his weight heavy on her forearms, bruising her.
Erik’s mouth came down hard on hers, lightly bruising her there as well before he moved to her neck. He continued to thrust in and out. Michaela’s moans grew shorter, quicker and louder. Looking up at his sweat-covered face, she felt warmth beginning to uncoil once more as she came around him with a deep moan. A guttural groan of his own joined hers as she milked his climax from him. His face found rest on her collarbone as her arms wrapped around him and her fingers tangled in his curls.
* * *
Crickets chirped outside the cracked bedroom window as Michaela rolled over, her hand sliding across a neighbouring pillow. A faint smile pricked at her mouth, her eyes still shut, half-asleep and thinking back on what had occurred: the way Erik had touched her, looked at her, the way he smelled, and how his commanding voice made her feel things she never had. A cool breeze drifted across the bed, causing gooseflesh to rise. Slowly her eyes opened and she realised she was alone.
‘Goddammit!’ she cursed loudly to no one in particular as she sat up, holding the cream sheet against her bare chest. She mentally chastised herself for not foreseeing that Erik would slip out before dawn, in an attempt to dissuade her from tagging along. Sighing, she tossed the sheet to the side, gathered her clothes and made her way to the bathroom.
Once ready, she pulled on her boots and slipped into Erik’s study. Shuffling through the dim room she made her way to his desk and, using her mobile for light, found Marcus’s folder. Michaela wanted an end to this; she was tired of living in fear. Lost in her thoughts, she stumbled over a stack of books and dropped the folder, which spilled its contents.
‘Oh, lovely,’ she muttered, bending down to retrieve everything. As she gathered the contents she noticed a small wooden box on the lower shelf of the bookcase. She removed the books on top of it and ran her fingertips along the engraving of the Matthiesen crest and the pewter clasp that held it shut. In the two years she had lived with the pack, she had never noticed this box nor heard Erik speak about it.
For a few seconds she struggled with herself but finally, when curiosity about Erik’s past got the better of her, she decided to open it. Inside she found a gun and two silver bullets where three should be. ‘My, my pack master. You’ve got some secrets.’
She closed the box and carried it out of the house along with Marcus’s folder. Dawn was just beginning to peep over the horizon, shading everything with a sense of otherworldliness as she opened the door to her silver-grey Cavalier and got in.
One night together with Erik wasn’t going to keep her away from the fray. The consequences of her defiance could be dealt with later. Right now there was a score to settle in Boston and she’d be damned if she was staying put.
Otherworldly Seductions
Kathleen Tudor
I hurried in out of the rain, shivering as I shook droplets of water from my long hair. Of course, the day I had forgotten my umbrella was the day that the storm, which had been threatening for days, had finally broken. I put my bag of purchases on the kitchen table, stepped out of my stylish leather boots, glad I hadn’t had to puddle-hop in sneakers, and set them by the door to dry.
Beneath my coat, my clothes had survived the worst of the drenching, since I’d only been a few blocks from home when the downpour had started. My coat, however, was dripping, and I winced as I hung it, already making a mental note to lay towels down beneath its peg. I twisted my hair up into a bun to keep it from dripping down my back, stabbed a handy pencil through the centre to keep it in place, and finally felt as if I were home.
Goodness, the things you had to go through just to come home in the Pacific Northwest! And with that in mind, a fire would be spectacular. I thanked my lucky stars I‘d finally gotten around to bringing in a load of firewood last night, and laid a fire quickly and efficiently. The central heating was already labouring to fight off the chill, but if it went out I wanted my backup in place. And anyway, nothing beats hot chocolate in front of a fire.
When the bits of kindling caught, I slowly added larger and larger pieces of wood, waiting patiently for the fire to catch and spread, while I also waited for the pan of milk on the stove to warm. I had just fed a good-sized chunk of oak into the fireplace, and was pouring milk into a mug of cocoa powder, when the lights went out in the kitchen. Shit. Candles. I knew I’d forgotten something.
It took a moment of fumbling, but I managed to set the pan of milk back down somewhere on the stove without spilling it and went back out into my living room, which was now cosy and warm. I’d only moved into the house a month ago, but it was already a haven, and I’d made a strong effort to unpack and make the place welcoming as quickly as possible. Fortunately, that meant I also knew exactly where the fat white emergency candles were hiding.
I pulled a few out, along with the electric lantern I’d bought in the camping aisle. The lantern would do for the kitchen, and, for now, the fire was enough light in the living room. Might as well save the candles.
I used the harsh light of the lantern to help me finish fixing my cocoa, complete with miniature marshmallows, of course, and then shut it off and took my chocolate and my bag of purchases back with me to the living room. I wasn’t a big shopper, except when it came to books. Then I could easily blow a paycheck in a single day. Cosy mysteries that keep me flipping pages, contemporary stories that make me think and feel, romances that make my heart flutter …
The bag contained two new books that I’d been unable to resist in the bargain section of the store. I set aside the sweeping historical story – the tale of queens and captivity and grand impacts on history could wait – and pulled out a romantic thriller that was probably a very bad idea in a d
ark house all alone.
I grinned at the thought, grabbed an afghan to wrap around myself and settled in close enough to the fire to read by its light. I carefully ignored the third purchase in the bookstore bag.
An hour later, my pulse was pounding with far more fright than romance as I compulsively turned the pages, desperate to know if the man stalking the heroine would get to her before the hero could. When she turned a corner in her house and bumped into a dark figure, I actually screamed and put the book down on my lap, my heart climbing my throat.
‘This is what you get for picking the scary book in the middle of a storm,’ I muttered, trying not to imagine the number of sounds that could be hidden by the steady pounding of rain on my roof. ‘Just relax, it’s not a big deal. It’s just a story.’ Sure.
I sighed and set the book aside. My watch said it was just after seven; it was dark enough to feel much later, but not nearly late enough to go to bed if I wanted a decent rest. Brilliant.
My eyes slid to the bag on the end table, and I shut them and turned my head away, ignoring it. But my fear-aroused body seemed to have a life of its own, and turned back towards the third purchase. I watched my hands slide forward, lift the last thing from the bag – which fluttered harmlessly away across the floor as it released its burden – and turn the package over so I could see the front.
I was holding an Ouija board – something I’d bought on a foolish lark this afternoon, when Mrs Bates at the bookstore had asked how I liked living in a haunted house. ‘I didn’t even realise,’ I’d said, teasing back. ‘The ghosts must think I’m very rude for ignoring them. Maybe I should take this and give them a chance to say hello.’ She’d given me a strange look, and hesitated before she reached out and took the game I’d plucked from a nearby rack.
But she hadn’t said anything further – had only added the Ouija board to my purchases and taken my cash with a small hesitancy in her usual smile. I had laughed as I left the store, thinking that she must be superstitious. I wasn’t laughing any more.
My fingers itched to rip away the plastic packaging, and at the same time I wanted nothing more than to shove that silly box under the couch and forget I’d ever bought it. What a dumb joke!
I tore into it slowly and stuffed the plastic wrapping into the shopping bag before I sat back down with the box in my lap. I stared, transfixed, as I lifted the lid slowly and unfolded the board onto the coffee table in front of me. I set the planchet lightly on top of it, and sat, staring, for a long moment before I tossed the box aside and settled my fingers lightly upon the toy.
An electric tingle jolted faintly up my fingertips, shocking me to the elbows, and I jumped away from the board, shrieking like a child. ‘Stupid,’ I said, glowering into the room as I reached for it again. ‘Imagining things.’
This time there was no electric tingle, just the cool sensation of the plastic under my fingers. I took a deep breath and sighed. ‘Is anyone there?’
Nothing. I waited for a long moment and, just as I was about to release the toy with a laugh, the planchet seemed to slide across the board, moving to touch the edge where ‘Yes’ was written. I jumped, but left my fingers resting on the planchet. Had I moved it? Was it me? I tried to convince myself that it was, but I knew deep down that I hadn’t pushed the damned thing.
‘Who – who are you?’
The pointer began to circle, and I held my breath until it rested on the first letter. F-R-A-N-K-L-I-N.
‘Franklin? Do you – um, do you live here?’ Back to the ‘yes’. I was shivering now, my entire body trembling with the stress of the moment. I wanted to move away from the board. I wanted to toss another log on the fire. Hell, I wanted to toss the board onto the fire. Instead I asked, ‘Are you angry that I’m here?’ The pointer moved quickly to the ‘No’, and I felt something uncoil from around my spine. I hadn’t even realised how afraid I had been until he indicated he meant me no harm. God, I was already thinking of it as a he.
‘What do you want?’
The planchet slowly spelled out one word, paused, then swirled around the board to spell out another. My heart pounded. You. Beautiful.
The trembling was back in my hands. ‘Can I see you?’
Candles. Bed. Dream.
‘What do you mean?’ But the planchet was still, the ghost apparently silent. I wasn’t sure whether I was more terrified or intrigued by the idea of meeting some ghost in my dreams. Candles? Bed? Did he mean I needed to put candles around the bed?
I glanced at my watch, and was surprised to see that it was nearly half past eight. Apparently my little ‘séance’ had lasted longer than I’d imagined. I lit one of the candles and tucked the rest under my arm, then started for the bedroom. I hesitated, turned and scooped up the board as well. Why not?
In my room, I arranged the candles around the bed and lit each of them to provide a romantic glow. I started to undress for bed, and blushed when I realised the ghost could be watching. He wanted me … thought I was beautiful. Was he a danger? But I’d been here for a month, stripping for him every night. What was once more?
I pulled my clothes off, tossed them into my laundry bin and hurried into my nightgown as both the cold and the invisible eyes plucked my skin into goose bumps. I started to burrow under the thick quilts, but paused when my eye fell on the game board. He’d been silent when I’d last tried. Should I try again?
I moved to the board and put my fingers on the planchet. ‘Franklin, are you here?’
It shifted immediately to ‘yes’ and the goose bumps raced up my arms and down my spine.
‘What do you want me to do?’
This time the movement was quick and decisive as it began to spell, and after a moment I realised I was quickly going to get lost. With one hand I grabbed a pen from a table by my bed and, while the other followed the planchet’s rapid movements, started to write. When the motion stilled, I looked at what I had written. ‘Séance. Think of me. Sleep. Dream.’
A cold spike of fear lanced through me at the request, and I glanced down at the candles that rimmed the bed. Was it the flames that would allow him to contact me? Or thinking of him? I hoped it wasn’t that, because I was so spooked I didn’t think I could help but think of him.
‘Fine,’ I said, ‘let me bank the fire.’ I felt insane as I walked back to the living room and poked at the flames, readying the fireplace for sleep. Once it was taken care of, I stood and made my slow, cautious way back to the bedroom. It was funny how my grave steps resembled those of a bride walking down the aisle.
My room seemed extra cold when I came back. I stepped over a candle and slid under my covers, glancing with concern at the white pillars all around my bed. The candles were fat and steady, and I had no pets to knock them over, but it still felt risky to leave them burning all around me as I slept.
But as I considered it, I found the choice taken away from me, when sleep snatched me from my thoughts – and my musings about Franklin – and loosed me again in a world of mist and strange light.
A man stood nearby, watching me through the mist, though I could only see him as a shadow.
‘Who are you?’
‘Don’t you know?’ he asked. ‘You called to me.’
‘Franklin.’ His name was soft and smooth in my mouth, like a sip of whiskey. ‘But who are you?’
‘I’ve been watching you for weeks,’ he said, stepping closer. His thick brown hair was slightly dampened by the mist, making it tousle into sexy chestnut waves. His clothing was old-fashioned; it could have been a hundred years out of style, or more – I couldn’t tell.
I brought my hands up to cover myself and stepped back, suddenly afraid. ‘Why?’
He paused in his advance. ‘Don’t you want me? Why would you call me, otherwise?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I was resting between worlds when I felt you calling out to me. I’ve been with you ever since, but I couldn’t make you hear me until tonight …’
Called out
to him? I remembered being lonely, and maybe even crying for want of some loving company as I’d moved in, but … ‘Did you die in this house?’
He shrugged. ‘An accident. A long time ago.’ He paused, then stepped forward again, and his smile crept across his face so roguishly that I felt myself flush. ‘I’d rather focus on the present. Sweet Jenny …’
He reached towards me, and I felt myself yearning for his touch. ‘You can see me? In the house?’
‘I watch you every day, and long for you. Won’t you put me out of my misery?’
But I didn’t have to answer, because he leaned towards me and closed the last of the distance between us. His lips swept over mine, commanding and fierce, and I whimpered into his mouth as he claimed me.
I gasped when I felt his hands on my waist, holding me firmly, but my shock evaporated when I realised that I’d already reached up to bury my hands in his hair. Oh, who cares? I thought. It’s a dream … enjoy it! His kiss was gentle but commanding, and his lips moved over mine until my mouth parted beneath him. My head spun, tangling up in sensations and sending pleasant tingles throughout my body.
When his tongue slipped between my lips, I nipped it gently and then sucked it into my mouth. He groaned and shifted against me, and I felt the weight of a heavy cock pressing into my sex. He pulled back from me and grinned, slightly out of breath. ‘The women of my time were not so … brazen.’
‘Didn’t you intend to seduce me?’ He blushed in answer, and I smiled and tilted my face up towards his. ‘Then shut up and do it.’
He surged forward, putting some ferocity into his kiss, and I moaned and let myself cling to his arms as he swept me away in his passion. It seemed only natural when he lifted me, his mouth never breaking from mine, and set me down again on something soft and yielding. His hands swept over my body, and I realised that I was naked. Had I been naked before? I didn’t think so …