Mood - Sleepy
Playing on stereo - Christmas Music
Your eyes are not deceiving you. There is a post missing. I realized yesterday that I'd written about a story that has not been released yet. Due to anonymity for my review site, I can't really do that until the book is available and I look like all the other happy readers in cyberspace. So...when the time comes, I'll share the information again.
The new story is coming along great...but I'm feeling guilty about Omega Mine and have decided to work on both at the same time. That is something I've never done before, so we'll see how it goes. Here's a snippet, in you're interested. It's another paranormal erotica, of course, but this time I'm exploring BDSM themes.
The excerpt is unedited. ;-)
She was ill.
The taint of sickness mingling with the aroma of charred steak and green peppers carried across the room from where Morgan Lakewood stood balancing a tray laden with food on her shoulder. Smiling and laughing with the diners at the table, she removed the orders plate by plate and placed them in front of family of four, chatting away as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Studying her closely, he noted the telltale signs that indicated she was unwell. Her body was slimmer, once long blonde corkscrew curls trimmed close to her head. Tanned skin was now a ghostly shade of white, the bright green color of her irises subtly darker. The faded black wide-leg slacks and matching T-shirt with a business logo hung loosely – too loosely – from her lean frame.
Placing the now empty tray on her hip, she asked softly, “Anything else?”
He closed his eyes and basked in the cadence of her voice, raspy and sensual, her southern dialect slurring the vowels slightly. He could imagine how thick her accent would become after he placed her on the St. Andrew’s cross, cuffed her wrists and ankles, pressed kisses to her pulse points, and informed her of all the pleasures he had in
Reopening his eyes, he stared across the room. The family nodded in response and she started walking in the direction of the kitchen directly behind his booth, oblivious to his presence. The moment he entered the steakhouse, he’d cloaked himself and claimed an empty space in the back of the restaurant, observing her.
If she saw him, he wasn’t certain how she would react.
As she approached, he admired her delicate features – heart shaped face, small upturned nose, plush lips, wide doe-like eyes. She was built like a gymnast – compact, athletic, and trim. Only now, the grace he recalled was gone, replaced by obvious fatigue as she trudged past his seat and vanished from view.
Anger came, an outrage aimed at what was versus what should have been. No slave of his would work in such a place, drenched in the stench of scorched meat and cheap beer. It was insulting to see her as a minion to mortals who didn’t appreciate her worth, clothed in cheap cotton and scuffed marked boots. Never would he allow his most revered servant to dress in anything but the finest materials. Skin was meant to be pampered, kept smooth and flawless until blushed by the bite of a whip or the caress of a flogger.
His testicles grew taut, cock growing hard as his penis engorged with blood.
Once upon a time he had felt Morgan Lakewood’s lush skin quivering beneath his palms, had listened to her soft cries and muted whimpers as she went to her knees before him at Hell’s Gates and yielded control as ordered by her master. When she gazed up at him with eyes the color of spring leaves, trembling beneath his touch, he knew he was doomed. Never had he longed for the possession of another, coveting what belonged to one of his own…
He shook his head clear of the memory.
None of that mattered now. Her bond with Gunner was absolved, the connection severed in the same instant his progeny did something foolish and found his head severed from his body as a consequence. The issue arose when he went to retrieve his prize the following evening, only to discover her gone.
As the maker of her master, Morgan never appeared before him upon Gunner’s passing as required. Instead, she vacated the premises of the compound in Miami, returned to her small hometown in Rainbow City, Alabama, and severed all ties with the enclave. One-year passed, then two, and still she didn’t return. When word spread, the Prince had been forced to visit him personally, demanding he lay claim to the female or hand her over to another.
The time of contemplation was over.
Morgan would have to choose the vampire she would serve, or one would be chosen for her. Human knowledge of their existence wasn’t taken lightly. The only reason she had been allowed such a lengthy reprieve was due his reputation. A younger, lesser-known vampire would have been called out directly for the infraction.
“I heard you, Charlie!” Morgan yelled just before the door opened and she walked past with another tray, presenting him with an unhindered view of her generous backside. Though slim, her hips still flared slightly, the globes of her ass rotating with each step.
As before, she greeted the table of patrons, smiled warmly, and placed the food before them. Wiping her hands on her apron, she asked if they needed anything more before she lowered her head and began the trek in his direction. Dissolving the cloak, he waited for her reaction.
Would she be shocked at his presence? Frightened? Their first meeting had consequently been their only meeting. Considering the nature of the introduction, she wasn’t likely to mistake him for someone else.
The instant she peered up, she froze, lips parting and eyes going wide. As she dropped the tray, and the bitter scent of fear suffused the air, he knew the answer to both questions.
Lord Noire McFadden.
Time stood still when she gazed into the steely-grey eyes of the vampire who haunted her dreams. The angles of his face were as breathtaking as she recalled; the features, while perfect, also slightly rugged.
One moment, he was seated in the booth. The next, he was on a knee before her, capturing the tray before it made contact with the floor.
Her brain churned like thick oatmeal, logic and fear battling for control and making rational thought impossible. For a split-second, she considered running. Then, his hand encircled her wrist, the pad of his thumb brushing along the hammering pulse. The contact sent fire coursing through her blood and raw need raging throughout her body. Though she would have liked to think it was a natural reaction to what he was, or a testament to her celibacy since leaving the compound, she knew the truth.
Her body remembered his touch and hungered for more.
“Morgan!” Charlie’s loud bellow echoed from the kitchen, and her head jolted up, bringing her back to the present. Shocked out of her reverie, she attempted to pull her hand away, whimpering pitifully.
“Shh, mo chridhe,” Noire whispered in the husky Scottish brogue she remembered only so well, his grip unyielding. “Easy.”
P.S. For today only, you can download the story, The Object Of My Obession, for free at All Romance. It's an erotic menage. Click HERE if you're interested!