When something tall, fanged and handsome crawls out of the darkness to confess his love and devotion, she finds it hard to resist. But when sexual ecstasy turns to nightmarish possession, it becomes apparent that it’s equally hard to run away. (F/M)
|While it supports our authors more if you buy directly from the publisher here, you can also follow these links to purchase the work from these distributors:
Or buy one or more the anthologies that include the story:
His arm slips over the bend of your waist, touching skin where your t-shirt rides up high on your ribs, twisted halfway around your body, and you don’t move, you don’t fucking move, every muscle clamped so hard you could break with a breath.
Goosebumps rise and ripple along your arms when his fingers touch your belly, fingers cold as the underside of a stone. They slide down, raising invisible hairs the whole way, and your body clutches and your hands grip and your heart races until it hurts.
You are so fucking wet that you can feel it between your thighs.
What started it first? You don’t know, whether it was the muggy summer heat that made your sleep turn sweaty or the dream that happened to mimic the weather, or the fact that fucking is literally all you’ve been able to think about for days. It just was, just indistinct impressions of bodies and sex that left your panties wet and your cunt heavy with unfulfilled need. But now you want to clamp your thighs shut, rub them hard together, shove your fingers inside and ride your hand until you burst — you want all that.
That’s the worst thing. He’s going to give it to you and you want it.