Authors: Tracy St. John
Elisha backed off once more. Naya groaned. She’d been so close, and he’d taken her to the brink. She knew he’d do it again and again and again until she was insane from need. And she’d let him too, because she wanted to give him everything. Even her hard won control.
Good girl. Now show me
, his thoughts whispered in her head.
Something inside Naya relaxed at that moment. As Elisha drove his fingers within once more and his mouth did the terrible, lovely things that made her want to scream, Naya lay trembling, but
she
no longer struggl
ed
to control herself. As tentacles of violent pleasure curled around her insides, she whimpered in reaction. But the part of her that wanted to seize power was quiet, subsumed by love. She would give Elisha everything, including control if that was what he wanted.
Only in this. Only to provide you the greatest pleasure, my sweet Naya.
You are your own woman, and I would never take your power otherwise.
He stopped the luscious torture. Elisha crawled to crouch over her. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for giving me your trust.”
“Always,” Naya answered, releasing her legs so she could wrap them and her arms around him and pull him down so that their bodies melded together. “Now end our agony and make love to me.”
With pleasure.
She was so swollen that he had to work to enter despite the copious juices flowing from her. Naya nearly swooned to feel the doubled pleasure: him slowly piercing her womanhood, filling her delightfully
,
plus the sensation of how tight he found her, clenching forcefully on his eager flesh. Elisha’s mouth opened wide and his head reared back.
“Naya!” he groaned, overcome by their shared ecstasy.
Somehow he continued to push in though they were both trembling on the edge of culmination. As pleasure spiraled tight in her womb, Naya felt how Elisha’s scrotum drew up, tensing against him. Both their loins grew heavy with the swell of bliss, and it only
increased
as he traveled deeper into her.
We’ll never make it
. In her profound ardor, Naya wasn’t sure which of them thought it.
Somehow they did. At last Elisha was fully seated inside her, their bodies merged along with their minds. Now there was no division between their shared arousal, no knowledge where one ended and the other began.
As one they worked together, tangled in body and consciousness. All intelligent thought ceased as they thudded against each other, chasing exultation. There was only tumultuous pleasure, growing closer and closer to its end.
Billowing heat and expanding ecstasy. Jabs of rapture so sharp they were almost painful. Merciless friction. Swelling jubilation. Upsurging. Exploding. Flinging wide. Plunging. Erupting again. Pulsing. Waves of bliss. Undulating delight. Clinging to another’s solid body. Belonging. Softening flutters within as sound returned, gasping breath, soft moans.
Love. Warm, sweet, homecoming love.
“Forever.” That single word that meant so much more than time.
Some men deserved immortality. Naya could only be amazed she
w
ould share herself for eternity with such a man.
The End
Other books by Tracy St. John
Unholy Union
THE CLANS OF KALQUOR SERIES:
Alien Embrace
Alien Rule
Alien Conquest
Alien Salvation
Alien Slave
Alien Interludes: Clans of Kalquor Short Stories
THE NETHERWORLD SERIES:
Drop Dead Sexy
Blood Potion No. 9
Please visit Tracy’s website at
http://www.tracystjohn.com/
and Tracy’s blog at
http://tracystjohn.blogspot.com
Follow on Twitter
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T
racySaintJohn
Coming
September 2012
NETHERWORLD III: ONCE BITTEN TWICE DEAD
I was tipsy and giggly. I sat in a grassy clearing in the middle of a stand of pine trees near the electrical station. The hum of transformers and distant traffic was a monotonous tone, hardly even noticed now that the five of us had been here for over an hour.
A Girls Only Thanksgiving Feast, Isabella had dubbed it. With only scraps of food left from our midnight picnic, we were a happy bunch of hens indeed. Sitting on blankets, three of the five of us huddled against the cooling night. We gathered around a spread bedsheet under the illumination of a full moon and security lights.
Lana Minchew, a roly-poly forty-something, her dyed blond hair styled in improbable Shirley Temple corkscrew curls, sighed and rubbed her belly. “Taylor, your amazing cooking has given me another five pounds to whine about. You are incredible.”
Isabella Rodriguez and I raised our champagne glasses, saluting Taylor Allen in complete agreement. Isabella, another cuddly lady who I thought was the quintessential image of a Hispanic mom, had allowed me to inhabit her body to sample Taylor’s stellar cuisine.
You read that right. Isabella is a channel, and I’m a ghost. My name is Brandilynn Payson, and I’ve been dead for around eight months now.
Patricia Keith, who’d been forced to spit out the delicious food after each taste, raised her bottle of Blood Potion No. 9 to the rest of us. Cool and elegant, she reminds me of a young black-haired Katherine Hepburn. Regal as ever, she’d managed to be subtle about getting rid of her tiny nibbles. Vampires cannot digest solid stuff.
With a cold smile, her glamour keeping it from turning too toothy, she toasted us. “Happy Thanksgiving to all my favorite turkeys … you four.”
We groaned and laughed, raising our glasses in kind. Isabella, Lana, along with Patricia’s trim and buttoned-up-tight girlfriend Taylor raised their glasses of Dom Perignon. I had a bottle of 1908 Pol Roger to myself, courtesy of the memory of a dead sommelier at the King George Hotel. We were all a little drunk except Isabella, who still sipped from her first flute. Of course, as a ghost I don’t get drunk from alcohol. My buzz came from the nearby electrical station. The power feed not only had me feeling happy, it also allowed my companions to see and hear me. Spirits are usually invisible to the living and undead.
In honor of the holiday, Taylor had eschewed her usual uniform of polo shirt and crisp creased pants. She always looks neat, but she’s not one to fuss over her appearance. Tonight she had actually curled her short brown cap of hair and looked lovely in black tuxedo slacks and a silk button-down blouse. Her leopard print ballet flats were a cool bit of flash, and the coral colored shirt set off her still-tanned skin to advantage. The town of Fulton Falls, located in southeast Georgia, is generous with the warmth and sun late into autumn. It’s no stretch for the living to maintain a bit of bronze even up to December.
Taylor grinned at me from across the blanket that held the sad carcass of the turkey she’d brined and roasted to perfection. “Brandilynn, you never gave us your list of what you’re thankful for.” She suddenly grimaced, realizing how that must sound. Shamefaced, she added, “I guess that’s to be expected, after the year you had.”
I didn’t take offense. Shaking my long copper-red hair back, I waved off her embarrassment. “I am thankful though. My killer is dead, no one’s trying to kill anyone I like, and I’ve got such charming, gorgeous, and witty friends…”
That earned a round of laughter. Lana nodded, her curls springing like yellow Slinkies. “True, true.” The psychic, one of the few breathing people who can hear and sense me even when I’m not soaked in electromagnetic energy, was typically over the top in a brown and green horror of a sweater. Pilgrims, Indians, and turkeys circled her pudgy waist. Red polyester pants joined the ensemble. Coco Chanel is weeping somewhere. Thank goodness Lana is enough of a sweetheart that her hideous fashion sense can be forgiven.
“You forgot smart,” Isabella informed me, which earned cheers. Her long black hair was twined in a French braid, and her pale pink eyelet dress with the white hand-knitted shawl was perfectly adorable.
Can you tell I love clothes?
It was Patricia who pointed out the best part of my afterlife. “Plus you have a couple of men who absolutely adore you.”
“Yes. I have that.” I looked away, smoothing my hands over my green pencil skirt which went so well with my ivory blouse that featured a scalloped sweetheart neckline. My two boyfriends were indeed something to be thankful for. They were also behind a lot of angst and guilt for me.
The others went quiet. They knew my struggle too well.
Lana can no more stand uncomfortable silence than she can leave sparkly blue eyeshadow to fashion-challenged pre-teens. “Still trying to decide?” she said.
I sighed and shrugged. “Well, look at my options. It’s like trying to pick between a Porshe and a Ferrari.”
Patricia’s tone held no rancor despite being closer to my too-many men situation than she would like. “You know my vote.”
I did indeed. Her brother Tristan is one of my lovers, a vampire like herself. She and I had already had the big talk about either committing to him or letting him go. To give her credit, she does understand I’m not stringing Tristan along because I get a thrill out of it. No, I am actually head over heels in love with two men. Plus I have serious commitment issues when it comes to settling down with just one of them.
A lot of people have had to be really patient with me. I’m not so stupid that I don’t realize there are limits to their patience though. I have to make a decision soon.
Lana sighed theatrically. “Some of us should be so lucky to have a problem like yours, Brandilynn. Then again, I wouldn’t want to have to decide between Tristan and Dan. Two handsome, smart, good men … on second thought, I would like to have those options!”
We chuckled at her effort to make light of what had become a very big problem for me.
Taylor laid her head on Patricia’s shoulder, looking up into the vampire’s near-black eyes. “I can’t imagine loving two different people. Not when one is so perfect for me.”
As Patricia tilted her face down to kiss her sweetheart, we all groaned with good-natured disgust at the mushy display. I tried to ignore a little tremor of unease as lust made Patricia lose some control over her glamour, allowing her fangs to shimmer into view. Just because one of my boyfriends is also a vampire doesn’t mean they don’t creep me out when their true nature is revealed.
“Get a room!” Lana laughed. “I hate being the only unattached member of this group.”
Fortunately for us non-sentimental types, Patricia’s cell phone chose that moment to ring. Taylor blew an uncharacteristic raspberry as her girlfriend checked the caller’s I.D.
Patricia arched an eyebrow, flipping the phone open to answer. “Speaking of Brandilynn’s harem … What’s up, Tristan?”
Isabella took another delicate sip of her still half-f glass. “Boo. No men. This night is for the girls.”
Lana grinned as she rooted around our dinner’s remains for a deviled egg. “He’s so needy when it comes to an election.”
Tristan Keith was currently the only paranormal member of Ford County’s commission. A vacant spot in Georgia’s state legislature had him eyeing a representative seat in Atlanta. Paras don’t usually do well with the mostly human voters. However, Tristan’s involvement in stopping a nasty shapeshifting gang from killing thousands of humans as well as vampires had made him the frontrunner in the upcoming race.
Isabella plopped a second slice of sweet potato pie onto her paper plate. To Lana she sighed, “I’ve got news for you, my single friend. Men are always needy.”
“Hear, hear,” I agreed. Were they ever.
Patricia finished her low-voiced conversation. All the rare merriment had fled her expression. “Tristan would like us all to return to the King George. He says something bad has happened, but he won’t tell me what over the phone.”
Taylor huffed, champagne making her more emotive than usual. “You vampires and your drama. It’s Thanksgiving, for heaven’s sake. No one is working tonight.”
Patricia stood, her pantsuit blameless despite her having sat on a blanket on the ground for so long. Even wrinkles don’t dare challenge that chick. Her dark stare sobered us all. “He’s really upset.” To Taylor, she said, “Coming with me or riding with Isabella and Lana?”