Hot Spell

by Lisabet Sarai

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Hot Spell

  ISBN # 978-0-85715-808-6

  ©Copyright Lisabet Sarai 2011

  Cover Art by April Martinez ©Copyright November 2011

  Edited by Stacey Birkel

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-melting and a sexometer of 2.

  HOT SPELL

  Lisabet Sarai

  The flames of passion are more than metaphor.

  The city swelters in the grip of an unseasonable heat wave. Sylvie endures her solitary urban existence for the sake of her career, but the prospect of a hot, lonely three day weekend proves unbearable and she flees east to the pine-shrouded mountains. Far more at home in nature than in the city, Sylvie doesn’t mind being alone in the wilderness, but she’s not the only being haunting the glades and the trails. Her plans for a midnight dip are interrupted when she discovers a handsome stranger in the stream near her camp site. Hidden in the shadow of the trees, she can’t help watching as he pleasures himself—indeed, surreptitiously joining him in auto-eroticism. By the time she recovers from her climax, however, he has vanished.

  Aidan finds her the next day as she sun bathes nude in a high meadow. It’s obvious that his desire burns as fiercely as hers, yet he resists his own lust, refusing to make love to her. The muscular, sun-bronzed man with the red-gold hair is cursed with power he fears will destroy her if they give full rein to their passion. Can earthy, voluptuous Sylvie refrain from tempting him? Or will she risk being literally consumed by love?

  Dedication

  To K, my beloved.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Abercrombie & Fitch: Abercrombie & Fitch Co.

  iPhone: Apple Computer, Inc.

  Coleman: Coleman Company Inc.

  Girl Scout: Girl Scouts of the USA

  Volkswagen: Volkswagen Group

  (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction : Mick Jagger and Keith Richards

  Thunder Road : Bruce Springsteen

  Born To Be Wild : Mars Bonfire

  Chapter One

  He came to her in dreams first, conjured by the sweltering night.

  Naked, she tossed in her sweat-damp sheets, drifting in and out of uneasy slumber. The muggy air settled on her skin, a stifling blanket she couldn’t kick off. Like a physical weight, humidity pinned her to the mattress. The feeble breeze coming through the open window offered no relief. If anything, it was warmer than the air in her bedroom, carrying with it all the heat that had been trapped in the concrete and asphalt during the day.

  Her limbs were leaden. A dull ache pounded behind her forehead. When sleep overtook her, she found herself wandering barefoot on empty, baking sidewalks. The sun’s relentless glare reflected down upon her from the glass-walled towers on either side. Rivulets of perspiration trickled down her spine but failed to cool her. Her skin felt scorched, ready to crack and peel.

  Then the dream changed. The oppressive brightness faded to sultry shadow. Flesh, not air, weighed upon her. Smooth, hot skin, slick with sweat, slid against her own. Strong legs tangled with hers, easing her thighs apart. Fingers of fire skittered across her breasts and danced in her sex, kindling incendiary pleasure. A scalding tongue licked its way to the hollow of her throat, then returned to seal her mouth with a steamy kiss.

  He tasted of mulled wine, melted chocolate, cinnamon and cayenne. A sharp tang of ozone hung around them—the smell of summer storms. Lightning crackled wherever he touched her. She ran her hands down his muscled back to his firm, full buttocks, marvelling at the power she sensed in him. Her palms tingled and stung at each contact, as though she’d been slicing chillies. The strange sensation added to the pleasure simmering in her pussy.

  She pressed her fevered body against his, trapping his erect cock between them. Hard against her belly, his rigid organ felt like a bar of steel fresh from the furnace. Every searing instant made her want him more. They writhed together, sparks of scarlet and gold whirling around them. Her clit was a live ember. When he brushed his cock over the swollen nub, she burst into flames.

  Climax raced through her, a conflagration of pleasure that burned but did not consume her. As she convulsed in his arms, he plunged into her depths, impaling her on a pillar of fire. Another orgasm flared—exquisite delight and unbearable heat. Then he was coming, too, in a blistering, fiery flood. She felt herself kindle, char, crumble to ash. She had no regrets.

  * * * *

  Sylvie awoke in the grey light of dawn, sticky with sweat and pussy-juice. Her clit still throbbed from her intense dream. She half-expected to see livid burn marks on her breasts and belly. However, her dusky olive skin was as flawless as ever.

  I’ve got to find myself a lover, she told herself as she showered and dressed for work. Two years is too long. It was so difficult to meet people here in the city, though. She hated the bars and the parties—all the gym-toned guys wearing Abercrombie & Fitch, flashing their iPhones and bragging about their stock options. She had scarcely any friends, aside from Alice and Jill at work, and, really, they were more like acquaintances—not people with whom she could share her heart. For the thousandth time, she wondered whether she’d made the wrong decision, moving to the metropolis from the farm town upstate where she’d been born. She’d done it for the sake of her career, and that, at least, was thriving. The rest of her life, however, felt bleak and empty.

  The sun was just peeking over the hills when she climbed to her rooftop garden. Even here, four storeys above the street, not a hint of morning coolness stirred the thick air. Her basil and oregano drooped, limp and sad, beaten down by the unseasonable heat…just as she was. A coating of dust dulled the normally shiny foliage of her dwarf lemon tree. The leaves of her strawberry plants were edged with brown. Only her morning glories appeared to be unaffected by the soaring temperatures, their iridescent purple blooms opening to welcome the rising sun.

  Sylvie turned on the hose and gave her beloved plants a good soaking. The herbs perked up and a faint, welcome scent of growing things reached her. Humming an old folk song, she sprayed the dust off the lemon leaves and gently irrigated the strawberries. They’d both flower soon, she noted. One small benefit of the heat wave.

  Seating herself on the wrought-iron bench in the centre of the garden, she filled her lungs with the smells of green plants and fertile earth. A familiar sense of peace stole over her. If only I could stay here all day. Alas, she had a staff meeting at nine, and an appointment with a potential new client at two-thirty. But I could leave after that, she realised. It w
as Friday. No one would miss her if she ducked out a few hours before normal quitting time, especially since Monday was a holiday. She expected that quite a few of her colleagues would want to get started early on their long weekend.

  Sylvie had no plans, though. For her, it would be an endless, lonely three days…and oppressively hot, too, according to the forecasts. All at once, she couldn’t bear the notion of spending the weekend by herself in the sweltering city.

  The hills, normally a brilliant emerald at this time of year, had turned a premature yellow. Sylvie gazed off to the east, imagining soaring pines and gleaming white summits. A yearning seized her—an almost physical need to be in the woods again. She smiled and brushed her unruly hair out of her eyes. Camping would be just the thing. It was barely Memorial Day. There wouldn’t be any crowds. There might even still be snow.

  She bounded down the stairs to pack her gear, singing to herself. Being alone in the mountains didn’t bother her at all. In fact, it was just what she needed.

  * * * *

  The miles evaporated as Sylvie raced along the highway. Hot wind from the open window whipped her long hair back behind her. As the road climbed under her wheels, her spirits rose as well. She sang along with the oldies station as she drove— Satisfaction, Thunder Road, Born to Be Wild. The DJ’s playlist matched her mood. For the first time in weeks, she felt free, the burdens and worries of city life left behind her. Even the continuing heat failed to oppress her, spiked as it was with the scents of pine and wildflowers.

  She reached the trailhead about five. Sunlight slanted between the towering trees like gold bars. She locked her car, then shouldered her pack and set out at a brisk pace for the campsite, about three miles up the path. She’d camped in these woods before, when she’d been in college. It seemed like a hundred years ago.

  Alice and Jill had been appalled when she’d told them her plans. “Alone? In the middle of the wilderness?” Jill’s perfectly shaped eyebrows had knitted in a frown. “What if something happens?”

  “What could happen?” she’d laughed, guessing that neither of her friends had ever taken a hike or slept under the stars…or would ever consider doing so.

  “Wild animals! Bears. Mountain lions. Or you might fall, break a leg and be stranded. You could starve to death.”

  “And what about murderers or rapists?” Alice had rapped her fingernails against her desk. Her turquoise enamel matched her outfit. “You never know who you’ll meet out there in the woods.”

  “I’ll have my phone,” she’d reassured them, although she’d known there’d likely be no signal. “Animals are shy. They won’t bother me if I don’t bother them. And I took a self-defence course last year. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Anyway, you’ll know where I am. If I’m not back on Tuesday, send out the National Guard.”

  She strode along the trail, swinging her arms and filling her lungs with the fragrant mountain air. Sweat pooled in her armpits and under her breasts. The weather was still unseasonably warm, but a fresh breeze played amongst the trees, hinting at the coolness to come wherever it touched her damp skin. As dusk shrouded the forest, her senses grew keener. An owl perched on an overhanging branch—she caught the yellow glint of its eyes. Some furred creature skittered through the underbrush and the mournful call of a loon reached her from the direction of Crystal Lake, miles away. A spicy hint of crushed fennel tickled her nose, triggering a pang of hunger. Sylvie smiled, remembering the chunks of salmon marinating in a Ziplock bag in her backpack. She’d brought a half bottle of wine, too, for her first dinner in the wild. Somehow, she felt like celebrating.

  Full night had fallen by the time she reached the campsite, perched on a ridge above the steep banks of Sandman Creek. As she piled fallen branches inside the ring of blackened stones and kindled them into a merry blaze, she could hear the stream singing to itself…or maybe welcoming her back where she belonged.

  Her meal was every bit as tasty and satisfying as she’d anticipated. Afterwards, she sat for what seemed like hours, her back against the rough bark of a huge spruce, tasting the residual sweetness of her wine, watching the fire burn down to a clutch of glowing embers. The cinders shone from within like some dragon’s precious cache—ruby, gold, an occasional flash of emerald. The play of light fascinated her.

  Her muscles ached from the strenuous hike. Her hair was in knots and a sticky film of perspiration coated her skin. None of that mattered. Peace enfolded her, along with a profound sense of well-being. The breeze whispered to her. The creek babbled and laughed.

  Water. A bath. Relaxed, lazy and sated though she was, the notion still held an irresistible appeal. Sylvie checked the remains of the fire to assure herself that there was no chance it would escape the rocks encircling it. Then she dug a towel out of her pack and headed down the forested slope to the creek.

  The gurgle of water tumbling over stone grew louder as she approached. The very sound was refreshing. A few feet from the edge, she stripped off her clothes, draping them and her towel over a convenient boulder. She was about to step out of the woods when an unexpected movement caught her eye.

  There was something splashing in the creek a bit downstream from where she stood—something…or someone. Sylvie shrank back into the shadow of the trees.

  Directly opposite her, the stream rushed over river-polished rocks, flecked with white froth. To her right, though, it widened into a calm pool, black as the sky above. The unexpected noise came from there.

  She peered into the night. All she could see at first was a round, furry mass that seemed to float upon the surface. Ripples stirred as a figure rose from the water. At the same time, the half moon climbed above the crest of the trees. Its pale rays revealed the form of a naked man.

  Sylvie caught her breath. His back was to her—a gleaming, sculpted expanse that swept down to a narrow waist, then flared into taut buttocks. A curtain of wet hair clung to his neck and shoulders. He took a step forwards, water swirling around his lean thighs. The grace and power revealed by that small motion made Sylvie ache inside. She’d never encountered such beauty in a man.

  He turned then, and the ache deepened to an agony of want. Sleek skin stretched over his muscled chest and abdomen, strewn with glittering drops of moonlight. He turned his face to the sky and Sylvie caught a glimpse of features that seemed carved from marble—a soaring brow, chiselled jaw, sharp cheekbones and a broad, resolute mouth. The man’s eyes were closed, as though he was praying to the moon.

  Then she noticed his hands, clasped below his belly in a firm grip around his erect cock. It reared up from a matted tangle at his groin—hard and smooth as the rest of his body. Her nipples snapped into tight peaks as she watched the stranger knead his rampant flesh. Slowly and deliberately at first, then with a quickening pace, he stroked from the glistening bulb down to the root. His cock grew longer and fatter as he worked it, hand over hand. His full lips drew back and his brow furrowed as the pressure and the pleasure built. He kept his eyes shut.

  Sylvie licked her lips. Dampness painted her inner thighs. Her clit tingled and throbbed, crying out to be touched. Her empty pussy hungered to be filled. In a flash of memory, her dream returned—not the details, just the fevered arousal. Her body was on fire again.

  She sank to her knees on the mossy ground and plunged her fingers into her wetness. There was no conscious decision—she simply couldn’t help it. Her folds were slippery and burning hot. She cupped her hand, four fingers deep in her cleft while she rubbed the back of her thumb over her clit. Pleasure shuddered through her. The swollen nub was hard as a pebble, so sensitive that she could scarcely bear to touch it. When she backed off, though, it screamed for more stimulation.

  With her other hand, she massaged one breast, cradling the lovely weight in her palm. She flicked her nipple, striking sparks, then pinched it with all the force she could muster. Her pussy clenched in response. Waves of sensation fanned out from her centre.

  A low moan dragged her attention back to the st
ranger in the stream. His right hand jerked his cock, fast and rough. The other was hidden behind him, moving in the same jagged rhythm. From his spread thighs and straining muscles, Sylvie guessed he had at least one finger pumping his rear hole. The lewd notion made her own anus twitch and tingle.

  He was obviously close to coming. The realisation sizzled through her, pushing her to the edge as well. She dug in, mashing her clit against the heel of her hand and rocking back and forth, keeping her eyes on the gorgeous man jacking off barely a dozen feet away.

  His biceps corded with tension, his teeth bared in a feral snarl, he clawed his way towards orgasm. Sylvie climbed with him, matching him breath for breath, groan for groan.

  Even drugged with lust and poised at the precipice, she noticed a peculiar phenomenon Wisps of steam rose from the pool, twining around the stranger’s taut limbs. Hot spring, she thought as the water churned in a slow boil. The moon lit the mist, painting his flesh with an unearthly glow.

  A choked cry escaped him. A pearly fountain of cum arced from his cock and rained down into the pool, hissing as it struck the water. The stranger’s eyes flew open. His gaze found hers, despite the shadows in which she hid.

  The sense of recognition shocked her. This was no stranger. Deep in Sylvie’s belly, the last barrier crumbled. Molten pleasure surged through her, drowning rational thought. In its wake came a trembling quiet, a profound peace. For a long while, there was nothing else.

  Chapter Two

  When Sylvie returned to her senses, she found no trace of the beautiful, horny stranger. Aside from the occasional call of a night bird and the breeze sighing through the branches, all was silent. Could she have imagined him? Surely she hadn’t drunk enough to be seeing things?