Erotica Fantastica (7 page)

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.

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..."

Again he squeezed her pussy, making her
whimper and shuffle her feet in response, darts of sensation
assailing her groin.

"It's all around you, it's so big it's
filling this house, and I want to know why..."

http://www.saskiawalker.co.uk/rampant.html

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