Books > Extras
He crossed the room, every fibre of his being focussed on her. Only her. His body thrummed, all too aware of what was to come.
She slept, unaware of his presence. Delicious. Vulnerable. His.
The creamy column of her neck drew his stare and he drew in a swift breath. The musky scent of her sex threaded through his empty soul and his still heart skipped a beat.
Blue eyes opened. Saw him. “Yes,” she whispered.
He sank his fangs into her neck.
She claimed his soul with her love.
When she could take no more, when her body felt like it was no longer flesh and blood, but an inferno of devouring bliss, she whimpered.
He paused, lifting his head slightly from the junction of her thighs to blow a soft stream of breath onto the sodden, throbbing folds of her sex. She moaned, fisting the sheets below her, eyes closed, hips raised.
“More?” he asked, before returning to his worship of her pussy without waiting for a reply.
The fire consuming her, possessing her grew hotter. Groaning, she bucked her hips higher, wanting – no, needing his tongue inside her. Only then would the inferno be extinguished.
He lifted his head again, tracing her nether-lips made wet by his tongue with his fingertip. “More?”
Incapable of speech, balancing on the scalding knife-edge of her orgasm, she nodded, eyes gazing blindly at the ceiling. Oh, God. How could she feel this much pleasure and this much pain at once?
He slipped a finger into her sex. Wriggled it. Found the sweetest spot inside her walls and stroked as his lips and tongue found the tiny button of concentrated rapture and suckled.
The flames engulfed her. Took her. Incinerated her.
And she cried out.
Perchance to Dream
Perchance to Dream
I dreamt you made love to me last night. Even awake now, I can feel your mouth on my neck, my jaw. If I close my eyes I can see you, your shoulders bunching as you thrust into me.
The ache, the longing in my core for your touch makes me giddy and frustrated at once. My nipples pinch hard with desire and I let my mind replay the memory of your mouth, your teeth and tongue torturing them. Blissful, sinful torture.
My sex grows heavy and wet with want, a deep hunger I can no longer deny.
I am curious. Will I dream of you again tonight?
Will you dream of me?
Perchance To Dream Part II
You came to my dreams again last night.
I felt your warm hands smooth over my calves, caress the back of my knees, the inside of my thighs. Your weight shifted the mattress beneath me and I opened my eyes, looking up into your dark, dark eyes.
This is wrong, I said, my body aching for your touch.
This is us, you replied, and dipped your head to my belly.
I shifted on the sheets, my legs parting to your gentle fingers. You stroked the wetness between my thighs with soft yet confident fingers, your lips charting a languid path from my navel down to the curve of my sex. I hitched in a breath, my fists tangling in the sheets. Your tongue parted my folds.
And I woke.
Perchance To Dream III
My waking hours become torture. You never leave my thoughts. Every touch makes me think of your fingers sliding over my limbs, every breath I take is tainted with your scent, everything voice I hear is yours.
I wait impatiently until I see you again, knowing what is to come.
The bed calls me, a siren’s song of dreams. My clothes slip from my body, a silken caress that make my nipples harden. You will take them in your mouth soon, and at the thought my thighs grow wet, my breath quickens.
I close my eyes and count not sheep, but the minutes until you will touch me. The seconds until you will smooth your hands up my legs, my belly. The agonizing moments until you will cup my breasts and part my thighs with your legs.
I wait, the sheets already tangled around me, my sex damp.
And then you are there. With me.
You press your lips to my shoulder, your breath a teasing kiss on my bare flesh, your hands charting a languid exploration of my body, and say: “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
Perchance To Dream IV
You grip my hips, your fingers sinking into the flesh there. I whimper, lifting my butt from the mattress. You laugh, a low throaty sound of triumph. You know you have me. The battle has been won and I am not the victor. No matter how I try, I cannot escape this.
You move over me, staring down into my eyes, commanding me to look at you without saying a word. There are no words necessary. Not at this moment in time. This is what it is. Carnal. Undeniable. No matter how I try, I cannot escape this.
Have I tried? Have I?
The sweat beads on our flesh. We move as one, your hands sliding over my breasts, my shoulders. Holding me still as you enter me. One long, slow thrust that claims me. Owned. Caught. Even though I know this is all a dream, just a goddamn dream, I moan and you laugh again, your lips on my throat.
“Did you really think you could deny this?” you whisper in my ear, cupping my breast with one strong hand as the other smoothes down to my arse. “Did you really want to?”
I let out a hitched cry. I had.
But I have no defense against my dreams, and in my dreams, you conquer me.
And take the spoils of war. Over and over and over again.
I stepped into the phonebox, expecting a tiny space. What I found instead…
A warm body pressed to mine, the Doctor’s two hearts a steady tattoo against my shoulder blades. “Big, isn’t it.”
I didn’t know if he meant the TARDIS or the thick shaft between his legs. Regardless, the answer was yes. God, yes!
His hands slid up my ribcage and cupped my breasts. My nipples turned hard, stabbing into his palms. He ground his massive cock to my ass and my pussy constricted, flooding with wet anticipation. I grinned. Who better than a Timelord to provide the perpetual orgasm.
His hands skimmed her ankles, warm fingers tickling the sensitive dip before her calf began. He smoothed his palms further up her legs, cupping the gentle curve of her calves, exploring the hollow of the backs of her knees.
She squirmed on the bed, her sex damp and throbbing with an elemental anticipation. Oh, God. Yes.
Long, sure fingers danced a languid, lazy path up the column of her inner thighs, fingertips brushing over the soft down on her mons – a teasing touch that stole her breath.
He lowered his head. Blew a fine stream of breath over the swollen, burning button of her clit.
“Do you want this?” His voice was a whisper.
“OH, yes!” she murmured back.
He tasted her.
An Exclusive story for That’s Life readers by Lexxie Couper.
Carrie Davidson had not seen P.B. Ferguson in fifteen years, but that didn’t stop her recognizing him when he entered the Tudor Hotel.
Her ice water temporarily forgotten, she watched him move through the crowded pub, his six foot three frame dominating the space just like it had at high school. The pit of her belly clenched in a tight little spasm of heat and she sucked in a swift breath.
She shifted on her seat, the faux suede rubbing the backs of her bare thighs in a silken caress that made her sex constrict. Or was the entirely licentious behaviour of her body due to the supremely confident way P.B. moved? The same way an alpha lion moved through the pride. A walk that said: Don’t mess with me or I will eat you.
Her sex constricted again, with more insistency this time.
Unable to drag her gaze from the man’s towering frame, Carrie let out a dismayed sigh. What was she thinking? Getting all hot and horny over P.B. Ferguson? She didn’t get hot and horny over anyone anymore. She couldn’t. It wasn’t wise.
She lifted her glass to her lips and took a gulp. The cool water did little to ease her burning thirst and she bit back a curse. Water wouldn’t slake her thirst now and she knew it.
She let her gaze roam over P.B. as he continued to move through the pub, touching the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip. Damn, he looked good. And menacing. She’d heard rumours he was a cop. An ASIO agent. A political assassin. Rumours she’d dismissed. Perhaps they were true after all?
P.B. had been an enigma at school. Not quite a jock, not quite a geek, quiet but a little goofy and more than able to finish any fight. They’d shared one mind-blowing kiss during a reckless game of truth or dare in their senior year. A wild, unforgettable kiss that shook her to her core and left her wanting more, but nothing in P.B’s history hinted at a killer’s nature. Nothing.
Yet now, he seemed to ooze menace.
Curious. And – curse it – arousing. It changed everything. Everything.
She chewed on her bottom lip, watching the man stop at the bar. His shoulders were broader than they’d been fifteen years ago, his neck a little more muscled, his arms even more so. For a dizzying second she imagined those perfectly sculpted arms beneath her palms, and the junction of her thighs grew damp.
“Damn it,” she muttered. She didn’t need this complication. Didn’t need it, didn’t want it. If she didn’t leave the pub now, she’d do something she’d regret.
As if sensing her hungry stare, P.B. turned and stared right back at her, his dark brown eyes glinting in the dim light, his lips curling in a laconic grin.
Carrie’s chest squeezed tight. Her mouth filled with saliva and her sex fluttered.
She leapt to her feet, moving toward the exit. She had to leave. She had a rule she stuck to with unbending stringency. No one she knew. Not even the man whose kiss had never been rivalled.
The hot summer night air wrapped around her as she burst from the pub, like a cool embrace on her flushed flesh. She hurried down the deserted footpath, every fibre in her being demanding she turn around. Go back to the possibility she’d seen in P.B’s grin. To the perfection of his body, his neck…
No one you know, Carrie.
She stumbled to a halt and slumped against the glass front of a salon, staring at her feet. P.B. Ferguson. Why P.B. bloody Ferguson?
“I always wanted you at school, Carrie.”
The deep male voice sent Carrie’s head jerking up, and she stared into eyes darker than midnight.
P.B. gazed down at her with a desire she couldn’t miss. He took a step closer, his hips pressing hers, his hands flattening to the glass either side of her head. “I want you now.”
Carrie stood frozen, imprisoned by his eyes. They told her exactly what he wanted to do to her, as clearly as the rigid length nudging her belly.
“Do you remember the kiss we shared, Carrie?” He lowered his head, his lips brushing hers. “Because I do.” He claimed her mouth with savage force, his tongue plunging past her teeth. Demanding she kiss him back. One hand skimmed over her shoulder to cup her breast in a punishing caress that made her sex flood with tension. Oh, God, she wanted this.
P.B’s long fingers massaged her breast, tweaking her nipple through the cotton of her shirt. His lips scorched a path up to her ear. “When I saw you in the pub,” he murmured, warm breath like velvet on the column of her neck, “I knew it was fate giving me another chance.”
The word slipped through Carrie’s pleasure-fogged brain and she moaned. Fate. Was it fate she came back to her hometown now? Fate P.B. kissed her fifteen years ago? Fate he kissed her now?
“Are you a killer, P.B?” The question tore from her throat in a hoarse whisper. “Are the rumours true?” She ground the curve of her sex to his erection, wanting him to say no. Wanting him to chuckle and tell her the rumours where just that: rumours. Instead, he lifted his head and gazed down at her, lips curled in an enigmatic smile. He slipped his palm up her chest, circled his fingers around the base of her throat for a moment before feathering the back of his knuckles along her jaw. “Does it matter, Carrie?” He rolled his hips, stroking the junction of her thighs with his steely length, his stare holding her trapped. “Does it?”
Carrie closed her eyes. Oh, P.B.
His answer sealed his fate. And hers.
“Yes, P.B.” Her incisors extended. Grew sharp. Pointed. “It does.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him, the man she’d dreamed of even after becoming a soulless vampire five years ago. The future she’d longed for since he’d kissed her that very first time. “It does,” she repeated.
And just as his gaze fell on her revealed fangs, just as he gasped in sharp shock, she spun them both around, slammed his body against the glass and sank her teeth into his neck.
His fingers clawed at her shoulders, his hips bucked against hers, his sweet blood poured into her mouth and she sighed. She wasn’t thirsty anymore.
Threshold (Part I)
His dark-eyed gaze moved over her, a slow caress she felt all the way to the very centre of her heat. Her sex constricted, her nipples pebbled. She stood on his front door step, knowing she shouldn’t go inside. What waited for her within was dangerous. More than dangerous. Life changing. She shouldn’t go inside.
The corner of his lips – lips she’d long dreamed of claiming hers – curled into a knowing smile. He knew why she was there. Her flimsy excuse wasn’t fooling anyone. “Are you sure?”
She shook her head. No. She wasn’t.
Her sex pulsed, damp and eager. Her head may know what she should do, but her body hungered only one thing. One thing.
His dark eyes held hers captive as she stood motionless before him. “Are you sure?”
She swallowed, her pulse rapid, her mouth dry. “No,” she murmured. “But I can’t…I can’t stop thinking…”
His nostrils flared. “Of us? Together?”
“Yes. Damn you.”
For a moment, the smug arrogance left his eyes and he stood before her, exposed and as vulnerable as she. The boy she’d known twenty years ago in the man he now was. And then his jaw bunched and his gaze burned with undeniable promise. “I want you. I always have.”
She drew in a shaking breath, her heart pounding in her throat, her nipples so hard they ached, and stepped over the threshold into his home.
In the dark, he came to me. Insubstantial as smoke. Cool as mist. Yet his mouth, his tongue… hot. Wet. Masterful.
His hands claimed my body, his lips my nipple. I moaned, the sound loud in the silent night.
I am here. The words formed in my head. A statement echoed by the nudging pressure of his rigid cock on my pussy lips.
I opened to him, feeling him fill me. Stretching. Consuming. Possessing.
His mouth worked my nipple, his fingers my breasts. His cock my cunt.
I am here. The words again. In my head.
And I came.