by Anna Evans
"Catherine, you know you get punished if you don't follow the rules,” he whispered against her thighs, letting his breath puff gently over the need that had become the center of her universe.
"Please, Master, please, this is punishment enough. I swear it is punishment enough,” she said and he would never know if she would have wept in any event or if it was the relief of his tongue coming firmly down on her clit and his fingers filling the molten cream of her pussy that finally took her over some emotional precipice.
"Yes, oh yes, Aron!” she screamed, weeping and laughing and lifting into his mouth as he licked her, lapped and suckled her clit, fucked her with his fingers and tongue until he brought her even further to the edge, withdrawing mouth and hands just before the tension in that sweet cleft reached critical level.
"No!” she screamed, eyes flying open, filled with despair only to brighten as he lengthened himself above her, letting her feel his full weight, trapping his engorged organ between them as he lowered his mouth to hers.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Cat?” he asked, licking at the tears streaming down her face and taking the kiss that she offered so freely.
"Oh yes, Aron, yes, I do,” she said, before her tongue met his again, twirling and dancing inside his mouth while he pressed his lips even harder into hers and finally let his cock slide down over her clit, positioning the head at her opening, close enough that he could feel a surge of wetness rush from her sex, but no closer. Trembling with the effort it took to control himself, to keep from thrusting into the only woman who had ever made him so completely mad with desire, he asked her the question, knowing now might be the only time he would ever get a straight answer, could ever force Catherine Noble to speak of the unspeakable.
"Do you know a way to stop them? Do you have access to an antidote? Tell me and I'll let you come, Catherine. I'll let you come with my cock filling you until you can't breathe,” he said against her lips.
"No!” she said, her eyes filling with horror and her body starting to shake with the force of what he could clearly see she saw as the ultimate betrayal.
"Tell me the truth, Catherine, and there will be no more discord between us,” he said, pulling back so she could see his own raw need, know how torturous it was for him to stay apart from the welcoming heat of her body.
"Discord! Discord?” she spat at him, beginning to tremble even more violently as she laughed with scalding bitterness and tears ran down her face.
"Catherine—"
"You will see discord if you don't see this through. You will see what price I pay for my secrets,” she said, her eyes no longer angry but filled with the one thing he had never expected to see—fear.
With a howl of surrender, Aron thrust into her heat, fighting the urge to scream as she surged up to meet him and he slid inside her until his balls were nestled in the cheeks of her ass and his head hit the end of her tight sheath. She was perfect. They were as perfect together as he remembered, her body encasing him, clinging to him, fitting him as no other.
"I'm sorry,” he whispered into her ear as he began to thrust inside her, no control remaining for anything slow or gentle, only the relentless pounding of his cock inside her, his hips pumping faster and faster, racing to end the burning need, ease the painful pleasure of their coupling and spill himself deep inside her.
She met him thrust for thrust, slamming into him, taking everything he would give her, until finally she arched one last time and her muscles clenched down around him, the waves of her contractions pulling on his cock as he continued to thrust inside her clutching sheath until finally, with a scream that echoed off the walls of the bedroom, he shot inside her, scalding waves of cum spilling out of him until his balls ached and his cock finally stilled inside her still pulsing heat.
He lay heavily on her for a few moments, weak with what they had done to each other, listening to her regain her breath, amazed at how completely still she had grown. Finally, he lifted his hands to the cuffs and freed her wrists, which she dropped lifelessly down to her sides, not even bothering to rub at the red, irritated flesh.
"I'm sorry,” Aron said again as he rolled to lie on his side, propped on one arm, staring at her but resisting the urge to stroke his hands over her glistening body. He had a feeling it wouldn't be a welcome caress, not now, not anymore.
"For what?” she said, her green eyes murky as she stared at the ceiling above them.
"For using your desire against you. It was wrong, no matter how much I thought I needed the truth,” he sighed.
"My daughters are in danger. Don't you think I would do something to stop these Mutations if I could?"
"The rumors don't think so, they think you're willing to let the creatures eliminate the threats to your throne,” he said, face neutral, not wanting to arouse her anger when she was actually talking to him of her own free will.
"I'm not a monster,” she said softly, “at least not that way. I love my daughters, but they've never understood why I didn't stand up for their father. He was banished before they were old enough to understand what had happened. by the time they were old enough to understand, they already hated me and I didn't want to tell the truth anymore. It was easier not to."
"The truth is never easy."
"Don't be a condescending fool, not when I actually want to like you,” she said with a laugh that seemed sincere.
"See, you've proved my point. I was telling the truth about it not being easy and you called me a fool,” he said with a smile as he gently placed his palm down on her flat stomach and felt her heartbeat moving under her skin.
"Right,” she said, closing her eyes and letting her smile fade. “It's an enchantment. I once told a very powerful woman that I would do anything for a child. She was generous, said she would bless me with two daughters, but that I would owe her a favor. The favor turned out to be more than I was willing to give and so she took her revenge."
"Revenge."
"Let me just say, I know I'm famous for my sexual appetites, but not all of that is me. And if the appetite goes unsatisfied, I start to ... lose myself."
"She feeds her desires through the enchantment."
"She feeds on desire, period. My enchantment is only one of the ways she fuels herself."
"You don't mention her name,” Aron prompted.
"Shh...” she said, eyes widening slightly as if she searched the air around them for some horrible spirit, “do not even try to guess or she'll know and you don't want her to."
"Could she create an antidote? Could she help us either heal the Mutations or kill them?” he asked.
"She could, but she could also have created them in the first place. I wouldn't put it beyond her. She's always been mad and it has grown worse in the past fifty years. I've heard even her own people are afraid of her, that she killed her consort, the only one who could make her see reason,” she said, turning to him and huddling into his arms, smoothing her hand over his waist to rest on his lower back in a gesture that was strangely comforting.
"Consorts are good for that."
"Making power hungry women see reason?” she asked as he felt her smile against his chest, “or just distracting them until they forget what evil they were up to?"
"Would you allow any one man to distract you, Catherine?"
"Take me back to my men by any other means than the iron bird and perhaps we'll talk."
Then she tilted her head back and took his lips softly with her own, kissing him with such tender expression, Aron willingly allowed his arms to be lifted above his head. The cuffs slid closed with a click that seemed to amuse Catherine and she laughed as she kissed her way slowly down his chest, toward a part of his body already recovering from battle, more than eager to prove that he was capable of causing her a great deal of distraction.
ICE PRINCESS
by
Anna J. Evans
There were a lot of reasons Mike Rutgers loved winter camping—the solitude, the beauty of the winter landscape,
the sheer primal, testosterone rush of roughing it in weather conditions that most modern day men would consider uninhabitable. He had his soft, feminine side, but there were times when even a sensitive literature professor wanted to get out in the elements and grunt and roar and smash holes in the ice and spear small animals with a homemade weapon.
It wasn't politically correct, but it made him feel powerful, virile. To be completely honest, the entire experience gave him a hard-on no one would believe.
But so far, he'd yet to convince any woman he'd dated to accompany him on his yearly trek into the mountains of upstate New York just after the worst of the January snows. He'd dreamed about her for years, however, waking from his sleep with his fingertips hot from playing along her golden skin, lips raw from kissing her hard and deep, the way she liked it, just passionately short of pain.
Mike had even had waking visions of her, his mystery goddess with her long brown hair tangling everywhere, green eyes begging him to fuck her harder, longer, gloriously nude and writhing beneath him on a bed of animal skins, bucking into his cock like she hadn't been laid in a thousand years.
Not once, however, had he thought that she'd be one of his students, or that she'd technically be dead.
* * * *
"Professor Rutgers, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked, fisting her hands on her bare hips as if he were intruding on her sorority mixer, not happening upon her in the middle of the woods, in January, wearing nothing but fur-lined boots and a sour expression.
"Caroline?” he whispered, unable to believe what a sick turn his mind had taken. He'd always thought she was a stunning young girl, but she was ten years younger than him and dead. Murdered and dead. And he was in the woods fantasizing about her running around like something out of a low budget Eskimo porno. He immediately considered having an identity crisis.
"You have to get out of here. What the hell are you doing out in the middle of all this anyway? Are you nuts?” she asked, a sharp whizzing sound making her snap her attention to the right, just in time for her to duck an arrow aimed straight at her head.
Mike had enough time to consider how gorgeous she looked, bottom long brown hair flying as she twisted to the ground in a catlike motion, before another whizzing sound caught his attention. This time, however, it appeared the marksman was aiming at his own head, and not too far from hitting the mark if the burning sensation on his right ear was anything to judge by.
"Get down!” Caroline screamed, tackling him seconds before another arrow flew.
"Shit.” Mike grunted as she easily threw him off balance, sending them both rolling down an embankment covered in at least two feet of fresh snow.
"You are a fucking nut job,” she said as she unbuckled his backpack to free his arms even as they continued to tumble over and over. “What kind of masochist goes camping in the middle of the fucking winter?"
"What?” he gasped, more than a little dizzy.
"I said, what kind of sick fucko goes camping in winter?” she whispered with an evil grin when they rolled to a stop, her long, lean body stretched on top of his own, igniting more than a spark of interest inside his waterproof hiking pants, despite the fact that strange growling noises now sounded from where the arrows had flown.
"I'm not the one running around naked in a snowstorm,” he returned as she hauled him to his feet and started dragging him at a dead sprint deeper into the woods.
"I'm not naked, I'm wearing my new Uggs in case you didn't notice, Prof,” she said, throwing a sassy smile over her bare shoulder where a tattoo of a cat's eye winked at him.
He was considering what kind of response to make to that when another arrow whizzed by his ear, followed by a fresh round of furious snarling and snapping, as if a pack of wolves were on their tail, only seconds away from tackling them both to the ground and tearing them to bits with their fierce teeth.
"Shit!” he screamed when he turned to get a look.
"Don't look at them!” she screamed back at him and yanked his arm almost hard enough to pull it out of its socket. She was strong for a dead girl, fast, too.
"What are they?” Mike panted, pouring on the speed, forcing his already burning legs to pump even harder. He wasn't going to get eaten alive by whatever the hell those things were behind them and being outrun by a woman at least seven inches shorter was a bit of a blow to the ego, especially since he dragged his ass to the gym three days a week before his World Lit class.
"Oh, your standard mutant werewolves set on the complete annihilation of the purebred shapeshifter species,” she said casually, sounding as if she weren't the slightest bit out of breath or overly concerned about the part man, part wolf, part mutant abominations about to overcome them.
"I think I'm having a flashback,” Mike muttered to himself.
"You're not old enough to have a flashback, killer,” she laughed, a high, tinkling sound that made him want to smile despite the healthy dose of fear coursing through his body. “I'd put down money that you weren't even born until the early seventies. Unless they were dosing your baby formula, you don't have any idea what real acid is like. That stuff in San Fran in the sixties was harsh, my friend."
"What?"
"You know, we'd probably go much faster if I carried you."
"Carried me?” Mike panted with a laugh. Surely she was joking.
"Come on, don't be that kind of guy. Haven't you always wanted a beautiful woman to sweep you off your feet?” she teased before she did exactly as she'd threatened.
Mike knew he would have protested being thrown over her shoulder like a load of concrete mix if one of the arrows hadn't chosen that second to become imbedded in his shoulder. He grunted as the sharp piece of wood burrowed deeply into his muscles, knowing immediately there was some sort of toxin on it.
Otherwise, there was no way he would have allowed his entire body to relax or his eyes to roll shut. His last coherent thought had something to do with wanting to be awake if he was going to be torn limb from limb by a pack of mutant dog men, and then the world went black with a little bit of purple around the edges.
* * * *
Caroline paced back to the entrance to the cave for the fifth time in as many minutes. The were-mutes were gone, long gone. She'd easily given them the slip once Professor Rutgers had fallen limp over her shoulder and she'd really been able to pour on the speed. But for some reason, she couldn't stop the anxiety from returning, from crawling up around her shoulders and chilling her mind.
She was nervous, unsettled, and wishing more than anything that she'd been able to find somebody, anybody from her clan in the past three weeks. She'd been wandering the woods since she escaped from the morgue nearly a month ago. The human doctors had declared her dead, a fact that still got her panties in a twist. She was sure she would have had a pulse if they'd really taken the time to listen. It might have been a little slow, a little weak, but it must have been there. Otherwise she wouldn't be here. Right?
Because of their stupid mistake, she'd been forced to abandon her new life as a college co-ed, one of her favorite human identities in ages, and return to her clan's territory. After all, she couldn't very well rise from the dead in the human community without attracting a little attention. And while she loved attention, that wasn't the type of splash she enjoyed making. She'd rather stay out of the laboratories and ‘special’ government sponsored clinics where her kind had been poked and prodded and held captive for decades, thanks anyway.
She'd rather go back to her clan's territory and regroup; no matter how much she personally hated ‘roughing it.’ In the time she'd been in the high mountains, however, she hadn't seen a sign of her mother or any of the men she usually ran with at this time of year. That normally wouldn't have surprised her, her mother being famous for her little disappearing acts, but Caroline's little sister and her new mate were missing as well.
Emily never went out of their mountain territory without leaving a sign, a signal to let her sister know where she was
headed. More comfortable in the human world than their mother had ever been, Emily would also have called Caroline's cell phone, or dropped her a letter, or shown up on the doorstep of her old apartment before she'd just disappeared without a trace. There was something horribly wrong, and Caroline had no idea where to go from here.
Of course, if she'd taken the threats of the shapeshifter mutations more seriously, then she wouldn't be in this mess. She wouldn't have been surprised by the attack outside the college bar that left her nearly dead, now would she have lost touch with her family, and wouldn't presently be in even deeper shit. But she never took anything seriously. It was what she liked best about herself. And hated the most.
"What a flake, what a fucking flake you are,” she whispered to herself as she turned back to look at Professor Rutgers’ limp body. He was breathing, but shallowly, his hard, masculine frame shuddering slightly with each inhalation. Whatever toxin the were-freaks had put on that arrow couldn't be good. They'd wanted to take her down, paralyze her so they could drag her back to their lair for sacrifice or ransom or whatever it was they had in mind. Unfortunately, an arrow with enough poison to down a shapeshifter would be way too much for a human to handle. Damn were-freaks.
They were nuts, all of them, thinking that her mother could give them some antidote to clear up all their problems. Her mother might be the queen of the northeast territory, but she was about as clueless as they came and couldn't give less of a shit about the mutations or her daughters, either of them. She'd probably thank the freaks for killing off one of the little brats who held claim to the monarchy. Catherine Noble intended to live forever and in her mind, it would have been better if Caroline and Emily had never been born. She had no need for daughters or princesses.
The professor drew her thoughts back to the present when he shuddered even more violently and thrashed in his tortured sleep. He was fading fast, there was no longer any way to deny it. His formerly healthy hued olive skin was now a sickly yellow, his muscle corded arms clenched as if engaged in an arm wrestling contest with death. A contest he looked to be losing.