Erotica Fantastica

by Saskia Walker

  She swallowed her words, wishing she had kept quiet. He was some sort of wild animal, for Christ's sake.

  His eyes were glazed and he looked at her with purpose, real purpose. He moved closer against her, brushing his cheek against hers, nuzzling her.

  "Edgar?"

  When she said the name aloud, he growled, and the sound was filled with pleasure.

  "Edgar." She said it again, and again.

  As she did images began to spill through her mind: memories.

  The night he'd first carried her to this bed—their wedding night.

  The night he'd been turned half-feral—and her fear.

  The night her family had taken her away from this place—and her pain.

  He turned his head and brushed her mouth with hers, gently, giving her the strangest, most seductive kiss, as if attempting to soothe her. He knew she was afraid.

  "Edgar, I remember," she whispered.

  She'd been forced to leave him and it broke her heart. She'd lived a pain-filled existence, her life an empty void without him. Kept under lock and key by her family, those people who thought he had driven her insane, those who believed their duty was to protect her from what she wanted beyond life itself: her husband. Through many lives over she had felt the pain and heard his call. Her place was by his side, and destiny had finally allowed her to make her way back to him. Emotion swelled in her chest. She put her fist to her breastbone, something he had done when he first told her he loved her and wanted her to be his wife.

  When he saw that, heat from his body swept through her, and something else in its wake, a deep recognition of his nature. Feral, sexual, predatory—overwhelmingly seductive.

  "Rhiannon, my love," he whispered, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

  She stared into his black eyes, mesmerized by him, her heart thudding wildly. She nodded. "Yes, I've come home."

  She could do nothing but whimper in supplication when he pushed her legs apart. Then the scent of the moor and something else, like moss, escaped from his hair and immersed her senses in earthiness. A flood of heat hit her groin, sexual and fierce. She cried out, not with fear but with relief, when she felt the warm lap of his tongue pushing into her slit and riding firmly up against her clit. And then he was moving rhythmically, his tongue lapping over her sensitized flesh, eating her up. She arched back against the bed, her body supine and willing. Each lap of his tongue freed bolts of pleasure deep inside her. Her juices were running. She could hear his hungry gulps as he lapped her up, and she was gone on it. He sucked and lapped at her until she was blinded with ecstasy.

  She became frantic as the sensation built towards its peak. He gripped her hips, latched his teeth over her clit, his tongue lapping at it from beneath. The riot of nerves condensed then peaked. Her hips bucked, her climax sending a deep long shudder through her body. He released her, pushing her legs wide apart, he moved down where her buttocks and thighs were sticky and damp with her juices, his tongue lapping all the while, spinning out the pleasure for her.

  Need to feed. The words whispered around her mind.

  Need you, Rhiannon. You have come home to me. We will be as one.

  It was then that he bit. Then, when her groin was hot and heavy with blood and pleasure. His fangs sank into the juncture of her thigh where the artery pumped fierce and strong. Pain and pleasure spiraled through her, her body jolting over and again. She felt him drawing on her life force and she heard her own moans of pleasure echoing overhead, tasted her own blood in her mouth as she thrashed and bucked beneath him, the bite as fiercely climactic as the orgasm had been.

  Eventually he lifted his head and climbed alongside her, his mouth and chin dark with blood. He placed damp, sticky kisses on her throat, and then rested his face between her breasts, licking the scratches there. He eased back and rasped his tongue over her ragged flesh. Healing you.

  She understood. She didn't flinch.

  Then came the thrust of his cock. The sudden stretch and fullness stole her breath. As she sucked oxygen back in to her lungs, the memories of their frantic lovemaking swamped her consciousness. It was as if she were back there in his time again, where she should always have been. As she thought that, so his visage became more human. Her submission was bringing him fully back to her. They were joining, not only in body and soul, but in time and place.

  "How I have longed for this," he said, and began to drive like a man possessed, claiming every part of her.

  The firm thrust of his cock at her center made her growl aloud, the pressure of his body there too exquisite. Each thrust bonded them, each grateful touch treasured. The slick draw of her body on his was audible, their lovemaking filling the room with heat and noise. Her skin was hot and damp, her clit thrumming with sensation beneath the weight of his body. She clawed at him, her hips arching to meet his, the reunion too poignant to sustain.

  At her moment of climax he sank his teeth into her neck. The dual punctures through her flesh were agonizing, for a moment, and her body jolted and stiffened, a harsh cry escaping her. Then his mouth covered the wound and once again he fed. As he did so warmth and vitality flowed through her, the innate knowledge that they made each other whole salving her doubts. All the while his cock maintained its urgent rhythm inside her, drawing her orgasm out in an unending ocean of bliss. As her blood poured into his mouth so he climaxed and pumped his seed into her, a cycle that she instinctively knew would sustain them forever.

  Panting harshly, he lifted his head, seeking her out with urgency.

  When she leveled she drew back a ways, trembling, overcome with sensation and confusion. What should have been torture had been pleasure, and one so very intense. How could this be? Maybe she was too far gone, most likely delirious. Her body felt strangely uplifted, floating. Perhaps I am dying.

  "Rhiannon, you have made me whole again, but you will turn now."

  His mouth covered hers and the taste of blood on his lips and tongue was earthy, metallic and salty. She opened herself to it, her tongue tasting his, her body claiming the primitive blood connection.

  "This is what they would not allow to happen," he added, while he kissed her jaw, her eyelids, and her throat. "I had to be sure, and you came back to me. I always knew you would."

  I will turn. I will be like him, wild and feral. Fear of the unknown jagged briefly at her senses, and then washed away. She was lulled by the beat of his heart as he lay against her, clutching her to him as if to keep her warm. She was weak with pleasure and blood loss, but drifting in a strange tide of surreal pleasure and pain. A prism of understanding sprang free deep inside her consciousness. He was keeping her warm. He was making her his, making her a timeless part of the moor, just as he was.

  Her eyelids were heavy, her body began to float. The last sound she remembered was reminiscent of a cat, a sated cat, purring, and the sound of it filled her senses and echoed in her heart, making it stronger, making it beat in time with his.

  * * *

  Rhiannon came to when she heard a door closing. Her eyes flashed open and the breath sucked into her lungs. She recalled she had been up at the lay line rock, and that she had fallen into a ditch. Had he carried her here? Was he real? Had it happened at all, or had it been a hallucination? Had the whole thing just been a crazed dream, a result of her injury? She put her hand to her head, where her hair had been matted with blood. The hair was silken smooth, and fanned out on soft pillows.

  "Rhiannon?"

  She rolled her head. Morning light filled the room, and it was just as it had been before, so many decades before, richly furnished with a wedding bed to be proud of. Edgar stood by the doorway. He wore a loose white lawn shirt and knee breeches. His feet were bare. Glossy black hair fell to his shoulders and his eyes gleamed possessively as he looked at her.

  Beneath the bed covers her fingers went to the place between her thighs where she still felt him claiming her. The skin at the juncture in her groin had healed, but bore a raised tattoo of markings, a scar much
as he had on his chest. Her clit felt bruised, bruised and sated from his delicious torment, her sex heavy with the aftermath of the carnal pleasure that had swamped her. He had made her like him. She was sentient now, but would she end up like he was, half-feral in the light of the moon? She should've been afraid, she supposed, but the prospect didn't faze her, because destiny had already embraced her, long ago. Let it take me where I am bound.

  She blinked when he walked over and sat down beside her. Staring into his eyes, she knew exactly where she should be: home, in the house on the moor. Everything she had left behind her faded away.

  Edgar had stepped out and called to her through the mists of time.

  "You've come home," he said.

  Tentatively, she reached out and stroked his handsome face. "They made me leave you, I didn't want to."

  "I know, but I also knew you'd find your way back to me one day." He turned his face and pressed his mouth to her palm. With a lingering kiss he breathed her in, deeply. When he turned back, his eyes had turned to molten fire. "Are you hungry, my love?"

  Rhiannon nodded, her blood quickening with instinctive anticipation. He rolled onto the bed, lying on his back. She swallowed hard, the urge to move closer to his body taking her over. Climbing to her hands and knees, she straddled his hips and arched over his neck. His hands went to her naked breasts and he molded them in his hands, a deep lingering sigh in his throat.

  Her sharpest teeth were aching for him, her mouth filling with saliva. She could hear his blood pounding. It was as if she had her ear to his heart. And his scent! His scent filled her senses to overflowing, her lips parted and it multiplied as she breathed him in across her tongue, every sensory receptor in her mouth and throat heightened in awareness—his scent, his body, his strong male body, all of it filled her and overwhelmed her with the need to take him.

  Her teeth ached and her curious tongue felt its way around the edge of her sharpening fangs, dripping with saliva in anticipation of the act. Beneath her splayed pussy, his cock was hard and he freed it from his breeches, readying for her to mount it. As she closed she could hear his blood roaring in his throat. She was changing—and she could sense his anticipation, his interest, and, yes, his darkening arousal. She growled low in her throat, instinctively knowing how good he would taste and how fiercely his blood would run to his groin when she bit into his throat, how good that would feel in her mouth and her sex. They would become strong through it, bonded as one.

  She closed her eyes, and felt desire run rabid in her blood. First she mounted his cock, and then she sank her teeth into his throat, piercing the skin and closing her mouth around the hot, heady flow. As she did, she saw images of them together, out in the moonlight on the moor, mating copiously.

  This was what had called to her. This was her heart's desire.

  The dark chalice that held the secret of the moors had been passed to Rhiannon, and she would share it with her lover, forever.

  ###

  About Saskia Walker

  Saskia Walker is an award-winning British author of erotic fiction. Her short stories and novellas have appeared in over eighty international anthologies including BEST WOMEN'S EROTICA, THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF BEST NEW EROTICA, SECRETS, and WICKED WORDS. Her erotica has also been featured in several international magazines including PENTHOUSE, BUST, and SCARLET.

  After writing shorts for several years Saskia moved into novel-length projects. Her erotic single titles include ALONG FOR THE RIDE, DOUBLE DARE, THE HARLOT, and RAMPANT. Fascinated with seduction, Saskia loves to explore how and why we get from saying "hello" to sharing our most intimate selves in moments of extreme passion. She has lots more stories in the pipeline! Saskia lives in the north of England, close to the beautiful Yorkshire moors, with her partner, Mark, and a houseful of stray felines.

  If you enjoyed EROTICA FANTASTICA you might enjoy RAMPANT.

  Possession is only half the fun...

  The moment she arrives at her rented vacation cottage nestled in Scotland, Zoe Daniels feels it—an arousal so powerful she's compelled to surrender to the unusually forceful carnal desires...with nearly anyone who crosses her path. Crawford Logan, the boat builder with the wayward grin. The devilish restaurateur Cain Davot, who seems to know more about Zoe than he lets on. And even her sexy neighbor Grayson Murdoch, whose eyes delve deep into her soul as he explores every inch of her body.

  Yet there's something unsettling about the way the locals watch her, something eerie about these overwhelming encounters. Zoe knows she's not quite in control of herself and begins to wonder if there's any truth to the legend of Annabel McGraw, a powerful, promiscuous eighteenth-century witch who once owned the cottage, and whose spirit is rumored to affect anyone who stays there. Zoe doesn't believe in anything that even hints at the occult, but now strange visions are turning frightening ... and only one man's touch can bring her back to earth.

  "Imaginative, sizzling-hot and by turns creepy and humorous, this one is definitely not to be missed. Hero Grayson is simply delicious — and like the book, irresistible!" 4.5 stars and a Top Pick for April 2010 at RT Magazine.

  Excerpt:

  Shore Lane was dark and filled with mystery, and yet it was Shore Lane that called to Zoe. She was thinking straight again, and she knew what she wanted. Grayson was at her side and he held her attention now. Behind them, at the far end of the bay, it was brightly lit and the sky above still glittered with incandescent stars, but she was barely aware of all that any more.

  They were almost at Her Haven, and she paused. Lifting her chin, she studied him, her pulse kicking up a notch as she did so. There was something contained about him, something invincible. It was incredibly attractive. She looked him in the eye. "What was all that about, back there?"

  "Power." He said the one word simply.

  His answer made her smile. "I thought as much." There it was, that mischievous echo inside her. Earlier it had made her feel dizzy and strangely out of control. But not so much, now. Not here in the dark on Shore Lane.

  I can have him. The knowledge was astonishing to Zoe, and yet it was sure and solid inside her, driving her on to take action. She was aroused. She needed fulfillment. He was an attractive man, and she wanted him. Gone was the resistance she might have felt about getting it on with a man she'd only met that day. Something else had taken its place—something that had wrapped itself around her and melted into her very core, making her vital and alive. She gestured at the cottage. "I appreciate you walking me back. Please, come inside."

  A moment later, she heard him closing the door, and then came the slow, solid sound of the bolt sliding home. A ragged sensation ran up her spine, as if something had shifted between them, some balance of power.

  Tension emanated from the place where he stood. She reached for the light. It flickered on but was nigh on useless, casting only a small pool of amber light in the gloom. Beyond it, moonlight funneled onto the stairs from a window on the landing above.

  Grayson stayed in the darkness by the doorway, but she knew he was watching her as she walked toward the stairs and turned to face him. It struck her then that he always had a purposeful stance about him, and ever since she arrived in the village—hell, even before she had arrived—he'd been there. He'd sparred with the postmistress, and then he'd turned up and competed with Cain Davot over her. Whilst that had it its own appeal, she couldn't help wondering why.

  Maybe he just wants to fuck, like I do.

  It was a blunt, wry realization, something she knew for a fact she'd never consciously thought before, and it embarrassed her, but she couldn't deny it. It made her curious her, though, and she had to ask. "You always seem to be around when I might need help."

  He stepped out of the darkness by the doorway and closed the space between them inside a heartbeat, making her breath catch in her throat. Lifting her chin with one finger, he looked deep into her eyes. "Is there something specific you need my help with, Zoe?"

  His eyes flashed in the gloom.
<
br />   She swallowed. His touch had started a riot amongst her nerve endings, and her sex clenched, needy and urgent. A moment before, she'd felt reasoned, back when she'd been focused on getting him inside the house. Now, his very proximity was washing that away.

  "Your company," she mustered, "I've been hearing some strange stories about this house."

  It was partly the truth.

  Mostly she wanted to have sex.

  "It has quite the history, that's for sure." He was watching her closely, unsurprised, fascinated even. "And something about the place leaves an imprint on visitors."

  "Is that part of your study?" Even as she said the words, the urge to chuckle rose up inside her. Of course it is. He can't wait to get inside and check the place out. The thought came out of nowhere, and she wondered how she knew that.

  "I'd appreciate a chance to inspect the house...and its current occupant." One corner of his mouth was lifted, humor and desire lighting his expression. His hand moved, sliding briefly down her throat and around one shoulder.

  "The house, and me?"

  "Mostly you."

  His breath was warm on her face, and her head dropped back to take his kiss. His mouth was firm and persuasive, and when she melted and moved against him, it became more demanding. Exploring her with his tongue, he tasted her first around her lips, and then deeper, thrusting his tongue in to the warm softness of her mouth. The action was rhythmic and slow and filled with erotic promise. And then his hand was under her skirt. He broke the kiss and looked down at her while he closed his hand over her pussy through the thin lace of her knickers and squeezed.

  A soft moan escaped her, she couldn't help it.

  He gave a dark chuckle, glancing down at her nipples where they were hard under the sheer fabric of her dress. "The heat coming off of you is fascinating me right now." His expression grew serious. "Because it's not just in here..."