Rescued I

by M. K. Elliott

She was ready.

  With more force, he pushed into her tight ass, sinking right up to the hilt. Alyssa pushed back on him, taking his full length, wanting more.

  In front of her, the blond had his hands on her breasts, his fingers finding her hard nipples. Her hand wrapped around his cock and she gave it a tug. She spread her legs, as much as she could, letting him know what she wanted. He shifted in the bed, positioning his dick at her slick opening. They were a tangle of legs, but he managed to slide up between her thighs and sink his cock deep into her.

  It took a moment to find their rhythm. Then they had it and she had never been so full in her life. A cock jammed hard in her ass, her pussy full and pounding.

  Hands and mouths were all over her, the short-haired man’s hand reaching around, rubbing the sensitive nub of her clit. She knew it wasn’t going to be long for any of them. The blond’s mouth was on hers, the other man biting his pleasure into her shoulder. She cried out in pleasure, her orgasm mounting within her while their rhythm grew more frantic and desperate.

  Her pussy and ass convulsed as she came, squeezing their cocks, signalling their own time to come. And they came together, thrusting harder and longer with each jerk, spurting their seed inside her.

  Afterwards they lay spent and exhausted. Within minutes, Alyssa heard their breathing slow and deepen, and she knew they were asleep.

  Carefully Alyssa stood up, careful not to disturb either of them. The couple of beers at the bar, plus the exhaustive sex had obviously wiped them out. She nipped into the bathroom and washed and dressed. She had packed this morning, so she simply added her toiletries to her case and then zipped it shut, wincing at the high pitched sound of the zipper, certain it would have disturbed them. Alyssa poked her head out of the door. They still slept.

  She picked up the video camera and quickly removed the memory card, slipping it into her pocket. She had a plane to catch, but always liked to take a souvenir home. This was going to be a private viewing that would be all hers.

  Incubus

  The moment I saw the house, I fell in love.

  Standing in its impressive driveway, my hold tightened on my husband’s hand. My breath, suddenly shallow and hard to catch, my heart racing.

  Looming over us like some giant tombstone, the house was both imposing and formidable. With a heavy double fronted door, and ancient tall sash windows; it was probably a surveyor’s nightmare. Yet there was something about it—an attraction that was instantaneous. The house wanted me.

  My husband hadn’t understood it, but everyone knows that ninety percent of house buying is done by the woman, and after all, he was away all week with work. It was me who would be spending all my time here.

  Within six weeks the house became mine.

  How was I to know it wasn’t the house that wanted me, but something inside the house…?

  I knew from the beginning that I wasn’t alone. The moment I opened the front door, a breeze breathed through the building, lifting the net curtains in such a way, it was as though they were whispering my name.

  My husband had to leave that night, full of apologies about not being able to stay longer to help us settle in. I wanted him to leave. I wanted to be alone in the house. It never occurred to me to be frightened.

  In the evening, standing at the stove, cooking dinner, I felt the gentle pressure of a hand upon my shoulder; the certainty that someone was behind me. But each time I turned, the kitchen was empty.

  Still, the presence in the house was obvious to me. I could sense it as clearly as if my husband was in the room. Part of me knew I should be scared, but somehow the entity’s presence itself was enough to ebb clam and lust in equal measure into my system.

  Later, naked, in front of the bathroom mirror, I felt arms encircling my waist, my nipples puckering in response to the touch. Behind me, the shower thundered, its heat and steam fogging the mirror. The cold drift of fingers lightly feathered their way across my stomach and I parted my legs, feeling the heat rise up from between them. I wanted to feel its touch there. I wanted to know how it would feel to have the cool pressure push its way up between my legs, but as soon as I parted my thighs the sensation was gone again.

  Stepping into the shower, my arousal hadn’t dissipated. As the water cascaded down my breasts, my nipples were still hard nubs, despite the heat. I used my own fingers to do the work of hands I had only sensed. I ran my hands across my stomach, reaching down between my thighs. I dipped my fingers into my hot, wet folds, stroking. With my thumb, I ran lazy circles over my clit, heightening my arousal, until I ended up leant against the cold of the shower tiles, my forehead resting on my other arm. I imagined my fingers were those of the entity I sensed around me, that it was not me bringing myself to orgasm, but the person I was certain was with me in the house. Gasping, my whole body shuddered as the power of my orgasm ripped though me, leaving my legs shaking and weak.

  I hoped he had watched me, whoever was in my house, I hoped he had watched me make myself come and it had turned him on as much as it had me.

  That night he came to me.

  I woke to find the room cold, freezing even, in the warm summer night. My skin was a sensitive rash of goose bumps, and my nipples stood painfully hard and erect against the silk of my night slip. Unconsciously, I reached down to pull the covers back over me, my half-asleep mind not yet registering something was wrong. I pulled the duvet around my body, trying to escape the sudden chill of the night and started to fall back to sleep.

  Suddenly the cold alerted me again. I realized that in my doze, the bed covers were no longer covering my body. Instead they hung off the end of the bed – as though flung there. Nervous butterflies worried my stomach, and I trembled in fear and anticipation. I lay frozen on the bed, unsure of what to do. A cool breeze blew from the end of my bed, its icy fingers creeping up the inside of my thighs, across my stomach and up to my breasts. I shuddered at its caress, my teeth gently biting my bottom lip.

  I knew the presence was here.

  Cold fingers touched the side of my face and a small moan escaped me. A weight lowered itself onto the bed beside me and I opened my eyes. The room was in total darkness. Black surrounded me like a living substance. If I were unable to breathe, I would have believed myself to be drowning in it. Fingers traced down my face and across my lips. I opened them slightly, tasting a sweet muskiness, and a wave of desire ran up from between my legs to spread its warm glow across my body.

  My hips pushed upward, desperate for some contact, but if my lover had noticed, he just ignored my needs. The icy pathway continued down my neck and across to my nipple. The hard nub encircled by a bitter tongue. The moisture from his mouth reacted with the arctic room, inflaming me. Again I cried out, my body pinned to the mattress. I cried out in both fear and desire.

  I could feel his tongue working its way down my body and I wanted him—God, how I wanted him. My back arched up into his touch; my pussy already wet and swollen, ready to be taken. But instead of going where I wanted him most, he pulled his mouth away and pushed his body up against mine, his fingers tangling in the back of my hair, hard muscular legs entwining my own. His entire body was like a smooth glacier, sinews and muscle carved into every plane and curve. I could feel the hardness of his cock pushing against my stomach and I longed to touch it, to take it between my lips, tease it with my tongue.

  But instead his mouth crushed down onto mine, angry and passionate. I kissed him back, my tongue searching the cold of his mouth, his own tongue tracing the inside of mine.

  I reached down, my fingers tracing the solid muscle of his body. How could this be real? How could I be touching something in my heart I knew did not belong to this world?

  I ran my hands down his chest, his own rippled stomach, and the hard length of his cock sprang up to meet me. My fingers tentatively stroked its curved length, feeling its satin smoothness. He trembled beside me, my contact creating the same sensations that he had in me.

  Then he pulled away agai
n. I groaned in disappointment, but then I felt his mouth upon my skin once more. He headed down now, cold lips nibbling the skin of my stomach, his mouth brushing the narrow strip of hair I left down there. I spread my legs wide, my body trembling in anticipation.

  Then his mouth was on me, the coolness of his tongue a balm against my hot flesh. Starting at the base of my pussy, tantalizingly close to the tight pucker of my ass, he slowly licked upward, ending on the quivering nub of my clit. I gasped in delight. He moved down again, his tongue flicking my ass just briefly before travelling back up. Over and over, he licked me each time paying just a little more attention to my tight hole. I moaned, my head thrashing against the pillow, my fingers gripping the sheets.

  Then I felt his finger teasing my ass, gently probing, teasing me open. He pushed his finger inside of me, his tongue still working my clit. Slowly, he pumped his finger, slick with my own juices, cold in the heat of my tight ass.

  I was on the verge, my orgasm so close it held me captive, I was unable to think of anything else but the sheer pleasure racing through my veins. I didn’t want him to stop, but he did, pulling his face away from my pussy, and his finger from my ass, and he travelled back up my body.

  Still, some forced held me pinned to the bed.

  He was leaning over me now, his weight pressing into the mattress on either side of me. My pussy was slick and wet, and with a slight shift in his position, his rock-hard cock pushed into me. I gasped with pleasure, my hands pinned down on either side of my head, unable to reach up and pull him deeper and harder.

  He was a raging fire, all consuming, violent and hungry as he thrust deep into me. And as I climbed toward climax, his fingers raked my back and his body slammed into mine. His desperation matched my own until I was unaware of anything but the mounting tide inside of me straining to break its dam and destroy all thought, all knowledge. The upsurge inside of me flooded. As it did so I screamed out loud, my body jolting in spasms of sheer delight, my thoughts a torrent inside my head.

  And then I was lying, alone in the bed. He was gone.

  My experience felt like a dream. Was that all it had been? I had climaxed in my sleep before, but never anything like that.

  I rolled over in bed, my fingers touching the empty space where my husband was supposed to lie. The movement caused me to wince in pain. My wrists still sore and bruised from where he had held me.

  Just before I sank back into the arms of sleep, I heard the house whisper...

  ~*~

  About the Author:

  M.K. Elliott was born in Devon, England, where she now lives with her husband and two young daughters. Though she has a degree in Zoology, her true love has always been writing and she now works as a full time author. M.K. writes everything from contemporary romance to steaming hot erotica, and her love of travel and adventure is her main influence in her stories.

  Also by M.K. Elliott:

  Some Love it Hot! – Girls who know what they like and know how to get it.

  Rescued II – Sexy stories of women in danger.

  Rescued: Volumes I & II – The combined collection of the ‘Rescued’ series.

  Deadly Beauty – A stripper is murdered, only to be brought back by lesbian vampire, Adrienne. But when she meets rogue vampire, River, she has wonder, does she really want to spend the rest of eternity with another woman?

  Escape – A young doctor runs away to Thailand hoping to find herself, but ends up discovering someone new in the arms of a dive instructor (please note: this novel contains some erotic element, but is not erotica).

  Novels by M.K. Elliott, written in the name, Marissa Farrar:

  Alone – An abused woman meets a vampire and changes her destiny forever.

  The Dark Road – A group of backpackers take a terrifying journey through Cambodia.

  Where the Dead Live – A collection of six paranormal short stories.

  *** The following is the first three chapters from the vampire-romance novel, Alone.

  Alone

  Chapter One

  The day Serenity Hathaway would come to view as the lowest point in her life would also turn out to be the day that everything changed.

  She had just been fired.

  In many ways it shouldn’t have come as a shock; she had been hanging onto the job by her fingernails for quite some time. It wasn’t her fault that she was fired, not that that made her any less terrified of going home to face her husband, Jackson, who was ultimately the cause of her getting the sack.

  She had been given her marching orders at two o’clock that afternoon, after she had passed out in the women’s bathroom and had been too ashamed to admit it. She thought by now she was able to control the pain. She tried to think of it as a different sense, like sound or colour, but today her meditation hadn’t worked. When she had gone for a bathroom break and tried to pee, the pain in her kidneys had overwhelmed her and she had passed out in the bathroom stall.

  When her boss had demanded to know where she had been for the past two hours, she had been too embarrassed – too humiliated – to tell him the truth and instead she told him she had had a late night the night before and had fallen asleep in there. He had given her a look that was somewhere between disbelief, frustration and anger. She knew he didn’t believe her, but the number of times she had gone AWOL on the job had gone beyond a joke and he told her to clear her desk.

  That had been early afternoon and she had been walking the streets of downtown Los Angeles, too scared to go home, ever since then.

  It was late November and the last of the light was slowly bleeding out of the LA skyline. Her ribs were throbbing and the pain in her lower back made her walk with a hunch and press her palm into the small of her back, so that she walked like an old woman instead of the twenty-eight year old she actually was.

  The job Serenity had just been fired from was their only income. She was the one supporting Jackson while he worked on the novel she had never seen. If it wasn’t for Jackson’s refusal to work, she was sure he wouldn’t even allow her to have a job. After all, he didn’t allow her to do anything else. She had no family left except for the step-father who had passed her on to Jackson to continue the good work he had started, and any school friends she had managed to have at the time had long given up trying to keep up any contact with her. She hadn’t had a night out since she was a teenager.

  Her current afternoon, wandering the streets, was the closest thing to freedom she had experienced in a long time.

  A hard ball constricted her throat, making it hard for her to swallow, and the back of her eyes burned like fire, but she was all out of tears. Long ago she had learnt that they didn’t get you anywhere.

  She stopped on the corner of East and 3rd Street and rummaged around in her bag. She pulled out a bottle of water, a packet of aspirin, and a packet of paracetamol. She pushed out two of each tablet through the foil backing, the small white discs dropping into her palm. This was another thing she had learnt over the years; that it was okay to take the two medications together and that they worked even better that way.

  Except they hadn’t worked for her that afternoon.

  She had gone to the bathroom to pee, but her kidneys were in such bad shape the pain had been excruciating. Combined with the lack of sleep she had had over the past few nights, it had all just been too much for her body and she had passed out.

  Why hadn’t someone noticed her slumped in the locked stall? Why hadn’t someone come and checked on her when they saw she had been missing for hours? She knew the answer; because they wanted her out. Who wanted a work colleague who was moody and silent, who never attended any of the social functions and was always off sick? Serenity couldn’t blame them for finally losing their patience with her.

  The streets were starting to fill up with people. The tourist crowd had already headed back to their hotels after another day sightseeing and now the residents of LA were leaving their workplaces and heading off home. Serenity glanced at her watch. It was nearly
six and Jackson would expect her home in the next half an hour. Her stomach twisted into a knot of anxiety. Could she get away with not telling him? Could she pretend to leave for work as normal the next day? She only toyed with the idea for a moment. Jackson called her at work several times a day and would quickly find out what had happened, and even if he didn’t he would see through her in a moment. He had known her the whole of her adult life and would quickly see that something was wrong. If she lied to him, it would only make matters worse.

  Serenity felt a slow coil of anger stir inside her – anger at her boss for putting her in this position, anger at Jackson for controlling her life, but mainly anger at herself for allowing him to do so.

  She wasn’t a stupid woman, she knew what Jackson did to her was wrong. Yet somehow she always managed to make excuses for him, tell herself that she had wound him up, or that he hadn’t realised what he was doing, and that old favourite – that he would change. It was pitiful really.

  The truth was that she was scared.

  She had married Jackson at the age of eighteen. He had been the son of a man her stepfather had been friendly with and her stepfather had been happy to palm her off. Of course alarm bells should have rung immediately – her stepfather was more than happy to use his fists with her and any pairing he made would have been soured from the start – but Jackson had seemed to nice at first and she had been happy to escape from under her stepfather’s roof.

  The result was that Serenity had no idea what life would be like on her own and no idea that a life existed where you weren’t constantly looking out for where the next fist was coming from. She didn’t know how to live by herself. If she left Jackson, she had no idea what would happen to their home, to the bills, to all their things. That wasn’t the only thing she was scared of – she was terrified of how Jackson would react. He had no qualms about giving her a swift elbow in the kidney if she had burnt dinner, so she didn’t even want to imagine how he would react if she told him she was leaving him.