A Glimpse of the Dark Side: Adult Paranormal Erotic Romance Collection (23 page)

Although that didn't make it enjoyable.

He'd left with the stunning Brunette or, more
precisely, she'd left with him in tow, keeping him uncertain where
she was taking him, physically, emotionally or erotically. His life
and hers had touched, intimately, briefly, and now he was left
stranded in the middle of a wind tossed ocean. Unbalanced, without
true bearings, unable to find his destination.

Not that he was any long certain what that might
be.

Anyway, since then, his amazing time with her
clearly hadn't been so magical for her. He hadn't proven to be her
new god. It completely hadn't worked out the way he'd wanted. Going
"back for seconds" was something he never did, because he'd always
controlled each entire encounter. Always.

He'd never call them, either, no matter how
enjoyable his time with a woman had been. Ralph didn't want a
permanent thing. He
knew
each woman would want more from him
than he could give her, and want him to fix things in them and in
their lives that they should be fixing and controlling
themselves.

"That's how lies and arguments get
started,"
his grand uncle Bob used to say.

Ralph smirked at that and at his own
situation.

Because a man can't be a new god to a woman
every moment of the day and night, when she doesn't need him to
even be just her part-time hero, as their aging relationship
devolves into her screeching red-faced at him to make himself
"useful and go throw another laundry load in the machine!"

So, Ralph kept his encounters brief and fully
within his control. But, oddly, and he didn't know why, he hadn't
been and still wasn't in control this time, not even a little bit,
not with this gorgeous Brunette.

She was
his
new goddess. She'd fulfilled
dreams he hadn't really known he'd had. She'd made him happy,
y'know, the kind with shiny, delicate bubbles followed by being
distraught with the worry that she would never have him. She would
never own him.

Because after that night...

The bitch never called! And he ached for her to.
He restlessly waited, yes, actually waited for this remarkable
nameless woman, and even kind of pined for her to call and say she
wanted round two, seconds, more of him, more time with him.

He tried being clever and proactive by doing a
reverse listing search online but only narrowed it to her apartment
building, in general, not the actual apartment detail, in order to
learn her name and get her phone number.

The control was all hers. She had his number and
name. He had nothing, not even one hang up. He laughed bitterly
every time he thought that she'd probably deleted his numbers from
her phone list before he'd reached her apartment elevator's
exit.

Ralph sighed - he wasn't a man who sighed! Ralph
sighed, again, while discovering something utterly new to him.

Losing.

He'd won the bet even when he paid the money-all
of them knew it that night she dragged him out of the bar to her
apartment and her sofa. But, he'd lost his inner bet after he'd
left her apartment, glowing like a beacon, after he realized what
was really on the line.

Losing was definitely a novel concept and
reality for him, losing what control he'd always had.

Hell, was he losing himself not just to a girl
he might never see again, let alone touch. But to drowning in his
sensitive and precious memories of that night

This perplexing, puzzling, enigmatic - yes,
Ralph knew they all described the same thing - feeling. For the
most part, it was how he felt and he couldn't find the precise
word, if there was one! For the umpteenth time, he remembered what
happened that night as if it happened just a moment ago...

THE BRUNETTE'S fat-cushioned, antique
Cleopatra sofa was the large centerpiece of her little kitchenette
apartment. Everything was in view except her bed peeking out behind
a four-paneled room divider. At the rate they were going they would
never make it across the tiny apartment for that.

Naturally, that was where they were
originally headed, clothes dropping as they went, with urgency
making the sofa their immediate final destination.

He was so astonished. Whenever he touched her
skin it felt light, almost delicate, and entrancingly smooth. Her
bra was slipped off three feet from the sofa, her dress already
unzipped and hanging from her hips.

Ralph's shirt was hanging open and loose from
his shoulder as he paused, stunned.

"Your breasts are amazing."

Though it was darker here farther from the
lamp, the curves of her bosom caught the light in a manner that
gave the impression that they were very plump and well-rounded pair
of luscious, beautiful breasts.

She pushed a little and her dress fell to
collect at her feet, leaving her in skimpy thong panties. He
remembered so well the thigh-high stockings before she commanded
his attention by slowly sitting on the sofa, her brilliant dark
eyes tilted up to him, expectant, willing, wanting.

He felt his heart stop beating, literally, as
his breath ran away from him.

Who is this woman?!

Ralph shook his head a bit. This, right here,
with her, in her home, was completely different from what had
happened in Barry's back room. Because, when she had pulled him
inside the club's main bar's storage room, she'd been completely
intent on only one thing
-
her own pleasure. And him
servicing that pleasure.

Or were those two things? He wasn't
certain.

This woman was short-circuiting his brain,
and other parts as well.

ALMOST AN hour ago, she'd locked them in
Barry's back room and pushed him down to sit on an enclosed beer
shipping box before hoisting her skirt up, exposing him to an
extraordinary sight and scent, as she'd tugged her thong to the
side, presenting the fragrant spread of her sex directly to his
face.

Ralph's boredom left instantly, like a light
switch had been flicked. This unpredictable girl already had his
hardening member thickening and lengthening and becoming
uncomfortable in its suddenly restricting confinement, especially
with a hard case of beer under his ass.

Remember Lyda?

Lyda who?

Ralph had a hard-on. A full one. That hadn't
happened for a long time with any of the other women.

He tried to rise but she shoved him back down
and threw one lovely thigh over his shoulder.

"Eat me, lick me. Make me cum."

Then, she stared down at him like some horny,
regal queen waiting for him to serve her pleasure on the tip of his
tongue.

Ralph had frowned quizzically, because he
loved diving face first into a hot, juicy muff: but not while being
bossed around by a ridiculously hot woman. He was usually the boss
of any hookup.

But, this girl was a hot, confusing enigma,
unlike any woman he'd been with. She had no reservations! This one
he couldn't fully read. He didn't know what her fantasies were,
where all her desires were, if she'd had a questionable sexual past
or too many lovers that might warrant a rubber or-?

What the fucking hell? She made him truly
feel invincible - because she'd chosen him. Plus, he wanted to do
it. He wanted to taste her. Hell, his cock and balls were demanding
he get down to business, so they could, too; they'd been without
and uninterested for far too long. Here was someone worthy of their
complete attention.

He did exactly what she wanted him to do.
Hell, he'd kneel, crawl, and give her lip service however she
wanted it. Then, he'd get what he wanted, well, more of what he
wanted.

"Yes, there and there," she'd purred. "No.
Not there. Oh! Yessss...!"

She was amazing
-
the salty taste of
her, her heated scent, how she watered in his mouth. Plus, he
really couldn't read her, now that was a complete surprise. She was
a complete surprise. Then she wiggled and wiggled, abruptly
stiffened, then popped and like sweet champagne she poured
delicious sweetness into his eager mouth.

I'm next.

But, once done and catching her breath, with
both feet back firmly on the floor, she casually rearranged the
thong, straightened her dress, then turned on her heel and
abandoned him in a full chubby! She hadn't even reciprocated
Ralph's efforts, not by giving him a hand, as he had to pace around
and walk it off, waiting for his hysterical crotch to relax.

Then he'd fumbled with his belt, only
remembering it after hearing it jingle, and had gone back out to
the bar, and a hundred eyes.

The horny, selfish bitch just left me!

His world had just shifted. Ralph had
stumbled out of the storage room feeling like his mind had been
blown to bits. completely fragged by a grenade.

That was then, back at the club.

Now, in her own space, this dark-haired beauty
was the exact opposite...

***

Next Book in the Wild Hearts Series:

HIS GIFTED HANDS

In finding each other, Ralph and Alice found
the thing they have been seeking without thought - purpose,
salvation... love.

From the moment of seeing her, Ralph was able to
sense something in her. His gift, that which can manipulate life in
the expense of his own, feels the darkness enveloping her life
source. It is consuming her, like wood exposed on flaming fire. And
he has a way to help her subdue it.

Ralph has the unique gift of the healing touch
and for days, he took her pain and made it his own without Alice
even knowing. But for how long can he do this? How long can he give
her? Will Alice find out before it is too late?

***

Seeing is Believing: The Whispering 1

by Eden Laroux

***

"WE'RE ALMOST THERE," Meg announced.

The sullen boy next to her said nothing. Instead
he looked down at the floor of the beat-up station wagon, clearly
lost in his thoughts. From time to time, his hands would clench
within the sleeves of his grey, long-sleeved sweatshirt, a habit
Meg had noticed since the first time she saw the boy.

At first glance she knew that she was looking at
a boy who had seen too much of the dark side of life far too soon.
His brown eyes would always have a hint of a deeper sadness. Sad to
say, it was a look that Meg had seen in a few other children she
had fostered. And every time she saw it she could feel her rage
rise to her chest as if it were a form of heartburn.

How anyone could hurt their own child physically
and emotionally on a weekly basis was a mystery Meg would never
ever figure out. A part of her didn't want to solve it. To solve
would be to understand, and to understand could lead to a form of
sympathy. Monsters don't deserve sympathy.

The boy's name was Tony. He was a sweet boy and
like every victim of abuse he would be an emotional wreck for a
long time. So the silence that was only broken by the occasional
question Meg would ask Tony was a part of the drive that one
couldn't ignore.

"Tony, you must be really warm wearing that
sweatshirt in this heat," she said.

"I'm fine," Tony said, his brown eyes still cast
down.

Meg knew that wasn't so. The inside of the
vehicle was oppressively hot due to the summer heat. Even with the
windows down. She wished she had made that appointment to fix the
air conditioner in the vehicle before heading down to pick Tony up.
The poor boy didn't need heat stroke added to his list of
problems.

She wouldn't push him to remove the sweatshirt
though. Clearly it was a form of personal protection to the
thirteen-year-old.

Turning all thoughts away from the short
conversation, Meg searched her mind for a safe topic of
conversation that would interest Tony enough that he would want to
engage in it.

"I heard you like to draw."

From what she knew of Tony, that comment was
true. His teachers had commented on his love for the art form. They
also noted the quality of his work when they would catch him
drawing in the middle of class. Something the teachers noted with
more amusement than contempt.

"Yeah. But I don't think I'm very good," Tony
said.

"Bullshit."

Meg did not hear that remark. However, Tony
heard it and frowned at the spot next to him.

"It's true."

Of course Meg noted that Tony was focused on the
empty area of the backseat with a look that suggested he thought
someone was there. She had been informed of Tony's coping mechanism
in the form of an imaginary friend named Bruce. Of course, it was
being addressed by a psychiatrist. But as long as the imaginary
friend wasn't causing any problematic behavior, Meg wasn't going to
say too much on the subject.

If Meg could see the imaginary friend, she would
have seen a man in his thirties with scruffy, black hair and
wearing a pair of reading glasses that were so large they looked
comical. His green eyes had a spark of humor to them. It matched
the look about him that suggested a smile could break out onto his
face at any moment.

The imaginary friend's limbs were falling
asleep, by then. He complained about this condition frequently.

"Are we there yet?" Bruce asked.

Tony attempted to hold back a laugh but failed.
Even though Meg didn't hear the joke, she did allow a small smile
to come to her lips. At least the young man could still laugh every
now and then. For a while, Meg let Tony talk on as she enjoyed the
breeze blowing through her almond brown hair.

The moment of serenity ended too soon. Meg
almost didn't want to say anything even as the pale yellow house
came into view.

"Oh, look! We're here."

She drove up the gravel driveway before parking
at the foot of the crab apple tree that was in bloom. A former
foster child had dubbed the tree "Oscar" and, since then, that was
what Meg called it.