Damned by Blood Part 18

Coming to a hazy semi-awareness, he pushed the hair from his eyes and raised his upper torso, glancing down. The ends of the woman's long, curly hair were wrapped like silken fingers around his hips, embracing him, caressing his skin, as surely as her soft lips caressed his erect shaft.

Her warm breath blew across his aroused flesh, and her lips, warm, wet and soft, suckled the underside of his c.o.c.k. Her slick tongue stroked around the base of his shaft and she licked the thick vein that ran the length of his shaft from stem to root.

"Who...what are you?" He could only rasp the words. What she was doing to him, the short flicks of her tongue up and down his c.o.c.k, made all rational thought fly from his already foggy mind.

She didn't say a word, simply continued to lick and caress him, her head slowly bobbing up and down his shaft in hot, wicked undulations.

He felt his d.i.c.k grow and knew it would grow too big for her mouth if she continued to torment him as she was. Bacclum shut his eyes tightly and clenched his jaw until it ached.

One part of his mind nagged at him the closer he came to o.r.g.a.s.m. A buzzing, insistent nagging that he was h.e.l.l bent on ignoring.

It had been too long since he'd felt a woman's caress...too long since...

He groaned, exhaled a harsh breath, and grasped both sides of her head.

His intent, despite the exquisite feel of her warm silken mouth on his d.i.c.k, was to push her away. It took a moment for his mind to orient, for him to understand that something or someone had pulled him out of the book. And that someone was the one between his legs suckling his c.o.c.k.

His eyes shot wide open. "f.u.c.k!" The expletive was ripped from him.

The last time it happened he hadn't been ready, hadn't known what was going on, but this time he was ready for it. He reached down, grasped her shoulders and yanked her to him, forcing her head to snap back, ready to force her to help him out of the book. He stopped cold after one look at her.

s.e.xual energy vibrated from her, hallowing her body in a sensual glow of power that was tangible. Stimulating, electrifying...she was earthy, raw, woman.

Her dark hair, lush with wild curls, tumbled to her shoulders and beyond, partially obscuring her face. He reached a hand out and pushed her hair away from her face. She turned her head to the side as he observed her, transfixed. To say she was beautiful was too mild of a way to describe her.

Her complexion was the color of deep honey, her skin appeared soft, silky...he ran the tips of his fingers down the side of her face.

"So smooth," he whispered.

She drew back as though startled, her hair moving away from her face, her eyes widening as she focused on him.

And that's when he noticed her eyes. Large, they were slanted mildly in the corners, with dark, dense lashes that framed them, and so unlike any he'd ever seen throughout his long life, he inhaled a swift, disbelieving breath.

The iris of one was the color of liquid amber, dark brown with a tiny dark ring surrounding the pupil. The other was the same colored iris, but the matching dark ring surrounded a horizontal pupil, like that of a goat.

When she reached a hand out to touch him, he flinched.

"The eye of the demon," he said, unknowingly aloud.

Her expression shut down, instantly. Her earthy vibrancy seemed to dim, her body literally closed in on itself and she glanced away from him. But not before he caught the s.h.i.+ne of unshed tears in her eyes.

She sprang away and he put a hand on her arm, pulling her back to him.

"No! Don't leave. I didn't mean..." He stopped. He didn't know why he was trying to explain, or even what he was trying to explain. He only knew he didn't want her to think he was rejecting her.

The temporary spell holding them mesmerized vanished and with it, she pushed away from him, her strength surprising him, even as he lurched forward to grasp onto her.

His hand closed around some type of medal suspended from around her neck, the medal searing his flesh. The unexpected pain made him s.n.a.t.c.h his hand away.

She stood and glanced at him over her shoulder, her eyes glistening. Before he could reach for her, her form began to s.h.i.+mmer, becoming nearly invisible.

Bacclum fought against what he knew was coming next.

He could feel it. Sweat poured from his body, dormant muscles screaming in agony as he concentrated all his will on just staying awake...aware.

"Not this time," he rasped.

The first time it had happened, when he'd been drawn from that d.a.m.nable book, he'd come close to getting out. He hadn't known what or who had been the source of power that brought him to awareness, but in the end it hadn't been enough.

This time was different. He could feel it. This time he would fight like h.e.l.l to stay aware.

Before the woman could completely disappear, his jaw locked and he concentrated all of his considerable power into his hands.

She gasped.

"What are you doing?"

He lurched forward with his last strength, grasped her around the waist, his hold on her unflinching, strong.

"Say the words."

She struggled to pry him loose. "Wha...what words?" she gasped. "What are you talking about?"

"Say the words, d.a.m.n it!" Sweat poured from him, the amount of energy he was exerting was almost more than his body could take, caught between two worlds, not quite in the world of the book or the outer world. They were somewhere in-between, somewhere the witch had brought him.

He didn't know who she was, didn't know if she knew where she was, but he was d.a.m.ned if he wasn't going to hold on to her until she pulled him completely out.

"Pe', te ou, caw et me, pe' te ou, caw et me... Say it!" he demanded, struggling to focus his waning power on maintaining his hold on her.

Even as she struggled with him, he felt the power radiating from her body in hot waves, and the halo of power shrouding her fading form, vibrating, through the sweat obscuring his vision.

"Please..." He closed his eyes and concentrated. With his mind reaching out to her through their physical connection, Bacclum felt strength flood his body, a renewed energy shoot through his veins.

Pictures flowed in and out of his mind, in a kaleidoscope of images all surrounding Dominique.

He saw her in his mind. Her life, who she was, what she was...her differences from those she called sister, the pain that her difference had caused her throughout her life.

As a child at first, often playing alone, he saw her with her thin long arms wrapped around her equally skinny long legs, hugging herself as tears fell from her eyes after being mocked. As a young teen lying on her narrow twin bed, the images a.s.sailed him of her, absorbed in reading a book, alone. The images changed, s.h.i.+fted, and then he saw her as a young woman who, although she no longer showed the world her pain, it was still lodged deep in her chest, like a sharp arrow.

Always hovering in the background was an older woman, one who Bacclum recognized as her mother, diligently watching the young girl as she matured into womanhood.

One image bled to another, but more than the images were the emotions... Bacclum inhaled deeply, anger flooding him at the sheer isolation she felt, had felt, throughout her life of being different, her cries at night as a child growing up, being taunted for being different...always isolated, alone, even with her mother, he felt a sense of detachment-separateness, surrounding her.

Just as suddenly as it started, it ended. The exchange, although he had seen her entire life, had been fleeting and had taken no more than minutes. Yet it took a tremendous toll on him, the last of his remaining strength fleeing.

Bacclum opened his eyes and their gazes locked. He knew that just as he'd seen her life, who she was, she had also seen him during their exchange. Within the depths of her unique eyes, he saw the truth. No words were necessary, in fact none could really do justice to what he'd seen...what they'd both learned, about the other.

It was as complete as it was devastating.

Invasive, yet intimate.

A moment of understanding swept between them, despite questions he knew she must have, confusion...her spirit had reached out to him during the exchange and they'd connected on levels he'd never imagined possible.

She broke their visual connection. Too weak to stop her, he watched as she stumbled away, breaking free of him.

Once free, she clasped the glowing amulet resting between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with both hands. Despite the fear, he also saw a gleam of strength blaze brightly in her eyes.

With her eyes on his she gripped the amulet tighter, and began chanting. She was speaking in no more than a loud whisper, yet he felt her words seek him out, right to the heart of him, and strike. The pain was as sudden as it was unexpected.

Bacclum felt his remaining physical strength completely dissipate and his mind, which had been sharp and clear, moments earlier, again became cloudy and disorienting.

"No!" he cried out.

Before she could completely vanish, and with her he knew his key to escape the h.e.l.l he'd been bound to for a century or more, she glanced at him one last time.

"Come back for me, Dominique."

Three days. One wish. If the Fairy Queen keeps her promise...

Man of Her Dreams.

2009 Robie Madison.

A s.h.i.+fting Dreams Story.

Workaholic web designer Megan Jones exudes sensible and practical by day, but in her dreams she truly lives. Her nights are filled with erotic trysts with a dream lover-who also defends her against the dangerous wild stallion of her nightmares.

When she inherits a Victorian-era Welsh locket, she opens it to a shocking revelation. The tiny portrait of a black-haired man with a sardonic smile is none other than the man in her dreams. There's only one way to learn the truth about him-head to her ancestral home town in Wales.

A member of the ancient race of Tylwyth Teg, Owain Deverell has spent the last 170 years suspended between man and beast-punishment for loving a human woman. Weary of his cursed existence, and longing to be more than the object of Megan's dream desire, he strikes a bargain with the Fairy Queen. In exchange for retaining his human form, she grants him three days to win Megan's unconditional love.

Or remain the object of her nightmares. Forever.

Warning: Contains graphic s.e.x, dream s.e.x, picnic s.e.x, magic s.e.x, a meddlesome Fairy Queen, and did we mention s.e.x?

Enjoy the following excerpt for Man of Her Dreams: He led her around the side of the building and deep into the darkness. His pace was confident, suggesting he was familiar with the lay of the land. Less certain of her surroundings, she hesitated slightly when they reached a line of trees. Firm pavement gave way to the soft crunch of leaves and twigs under her feet. When she tripped over an exposed root, Owain caught her easily, but instead of holding her steady, he backed her up against a tree.

"Owain." She whispered the word on the night air. But unlike all those other nights when she'd spoken his name with a sense of frustrated longing, this time her voice was filled with awe. She reached out and skimmed her fingers across his cheek, just to make sure. His skin was warm to the touch and slightly rough with a five o'clock shadow. He was real all right.

Capturing her other hand, he pulled them both behind her around the trunk of the tree. The move forced his body closer to hers. So close his warm breath laced with a hint of ale fanned her face. He groaned low in his throat and his erection nudged her belly.

A cornucopia of sensual experiences a.s.saulted her-the rough bark of the tree against her back, his hard body pressed against her own. She inhaled and caught a heady masculine scent that was all Owain. Only unlike in her dreams it was sharper, more pungent. Oh, yeah, he was definitely the real thing.

Her own breathing grew harsher as a primitive l.u.s.t surged through her body. Her nipples hardened, pus.h.i.+ng against the lace of her bra, demanding to be released from their confines. She suppressed the desire to grin. Dream or real, her reaction to him hadn't changed one iota.

"I'm sorry I dragged you into the woods," he said, though he didn't sound the least bit regretful. "But I couldn't wait any longer. I need to kiss you."

A bolt of heat shot through her as he bent his head. The antic.i.p.ation alone was enough to induce a heart attack. She'd waited so long, believed it impossible that he was real. His lips touched her jaw right next to her ear, at once tickling her and stirring something deep inside her that hungered for more. Instead of being sated, her hunger grew as he ran a string of kisses along her jawline. Her body trembled each time his lips touched her skin. He might as well have been tracing a path to her core. That's where the fire burned. By the time he reached her mouth, she'd creamed her panties.

On a groan, he rocked his erection against the apex of her thighs. He caught her at just the right angle and her c.l.i.t welcomed the friction. Demanded more.

"I can smell you, sweetheart." Words whispered in the darkness, only this time it was no dream. His breath mixed with the sweet summer breeze caressed her ear.

Her tiny gasp of longing was all the invitation he needed to slip his tongue inside her mouth. Their dream kisses were absolutely nothing like the real thing. For one, her senses were sharper-she tasted a hint of the bitter ale he'd been drinking and the flavor of Owain himself. For another, there was nothing gentle or teasing about this kiss. His tongue explored her mouth with an exquisite thoroughness. He traced the edges of her teeth and then plunged deeper, stealing her breath and giving her life.

Emotions a.s.saulted her, battering her wits. When at last he broke the kiss, she swore she could hear their hearts hammering a duet between their bodies.

His eyes burned with a hunger that mirrored hers and she decided she'd been cast under a spell of some sort. How else to explain walking into a pub and finding the man of her dreams sitting there as though he'd been waiting for her to arrive? Psychic phenomenon or not, the situation defied any attempt she could make to rationalize it. And suddenly she no longer wanted to. For once in her well-ordered life she wasn't going to ask for explanations or a.n.a.lyze the situation to death. If this was an enchantment, she didn't want to wake up.

He stepped away, pulling her arms from around the tree at the same time. Then he ran his hands up to her shoulders, easing any strain. Despite the small distance, she was still keenly aware of the s.e.xual tension arcing between them.

"I don't think I can stop touching you," he said.

Now that her hands were free, she settled one against his chest. Heat radiated through the soft cotton of his T-s.h.i.+rt. All this clothing between them was an unexpected novelty. An enticement to bare some skin.

"What about me touching you?"

"Dangerous, very dangerous."

"Sounds like fun."

Her fingers caressed his chest, grazing over his nipple. It hardened on contact. He hissed and she felt the slight tremor of his muscles beneath her fingers. Her lips parted. His descended. Her eyes blinked once and then closed on a sigh. The tiny sound quickly morphed into a whimper of need when his tongue traced a path along her collarbone. She arched her neck, offering him more. He lifted his head instead.

"I like your dress," he said.

It was white and patterned with whimsically styled deep-red flowers. It was one of her favorites, which was why she'd chosen to wear it. But that didn't change the incongruity of his comment given the erotic thoughts tumbling through her brain.

"Except," he continued, "it's far too long."

She frowned. The dress fell to mid-thigh. What was too long about that?

"And it's in my way," he muttered, finally releasing his hold on one of her arms.

The next instant his hand slid beneath the hem. She cried out when his hot, calloused fingers brushed against her bare flesh.

"Hush, sweetheart. I'm going exploring."

That he was. Straight up what was left of her leg to the elastic edge of her modest white panties. She jumped as one long finger slipped beneath the cotton barrier. Not that he noticed.

"This is also in my way," he said, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

Her fingers crushed the thin fabric of his tee. Not that he noticed that, either. He was otherwise occupied. His brow furrowed, his eyes intently focused on her face.

The backs of two of his fingers skimmed against the dampened curls of her mound. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming in frustration. They'd barely started and yet she was on the verge of falling apart. Thank G.o.d for the solid tree trunk at her back.

"Let go, sweetheart."

All too familiar words whispered across the shadows. She groaned softly and shook her head. Her body trembled with the need to find release and yet- And yet she was close. So close she could swear that this time his fingers would finish the job before she woke from the dream.