clothes. She managed to tie her robes into some semblance of
order before heading back toward what she hoped was the village.
She
had not gone far when the sound of horse’s hooves topped her in
her tracks. A young man with golden hair and tanned skin stared at
her from the back of a large white steed, “Are you in
distress?”
She
gawked at him, not quite believing what she was seeing. It was
obvious he was a warrior and well-seasoned one, his armor had knicks
and his right arm bore a brutal scar. His face was lean and chiseled
and she felt instantly safe.
“ I
can take care of myself.”
She
turned to walk away and he caught her easily by the waist and tossed
her across his saddle.
“ Nobody
as beautiful as you should be in this forest alone.” He said.
“You have no idea of what lurks here.”
“ Oh
I think I have a pretty good idea,” Lania said. Turning her
head to look back at the forest she saw pan standing forlornly near
the edge of the woods and caught a glimpse of shining armor. She
waved at them and they waved back then disappeared into the forest.
Lania
turned her face forward, resting her cheek on the broad back of the
man carrying her into her future.
Hungry Like The Wolf
Hungry Like
The Wolf: Paranormal Erotica
The
sound of the surf on the shore woke Layla from a deep slumber. She
rolled over, pressing her nose into the lilac-scented pillowcase and
inhaled deeply. That smell was one she had grown up with, it was the
smell of summer: lilacs in her bed and the tang of salt creeping
through the open windows.
She
sat up, her slim body shucking off the faded old covers and stretched
with all her might. The air coming in was a bit too cool, typical
weather for an early June morning on the Maine seashore. She shivered
and forced herself to get up, walking carefully, on tiptoe, across
the old pine floor to the bentwood rocker where she had tossed her
sunny yellow terrycloth robe the night before. Belting it tightly
around her waist in order to conceal her boy short panties and
camisole she headed into the kitchen and started up the ancient
coffeemaker, smiling when she discovered a loaf of bread and a jar of
honey in the cabinets.
Twenty
minutes later as she was crunching the last of her toast and sipping
her second cup of coffee the sound of a car pulling into the driveway
caught her attention. She frowned and stood up, her hands going to
the disheveled mass of blonde curls rioting around her face and
across her shoulders.
The
bell rang and she stood there, undecided. A quick peek out the
windows showed her it was exactly who she had hoped and feared it
would be: Lucas Black, the incredibly sexy Sheriff that she had grown
up with and chased like mad as a kid and then as a love-struck
teenager. She had wanted to kill him when she had been eleven, he was
the jerk that always put frogs in her lunch box at Bible study camp
and cut half of one of her braids off when she fell asleep during the
wedding of her best friend’s brother.
By
the time she had been fifteen she had waited impatiently for summer
to roll around so she could see his handsome face again. She spent
nine months of every year at home in Boston plotting how to get him
to pay attention to her.
He
had, finally. For one summer, four years ago when Layla had been
eighteen, he had been entirely hers, but then he had broken it off
abruptly and without warning. It had broken her heart, and now,
standing in the kitchen of her grandmother’s homey little
cottage she found herself torn between opening the door and asking
him in and leaving him to wait on the front porch, shivering in the
salty air.
Lucas
rang again and through the windows she could see the frown pulling
creases into his high forehead. He was as handsome as ever, of
course. She had kind of hoped he would have gained weight, went bald
or had an eye gouged out by now. She’d even settle for a
snaggle-tooth. At the very least he could have looked a bit unhappy
or glum as he stood
order before heading back toward what she hoped was the village.
She
had not gone far when the sound of horse’s hooves topped her in
her tracks. A young man with golden hair and tanned skin stared at
her from the back of a large white steed, “Are you in
distress?”
She
gawked at him, not quite believing what she was seeing. It was
obvious he was a warrior and well-seasoned one, his armor had knicks
and his right arm bore a brutal scar. His face was lean and chiseled
and she felt instantly safe.
“ I
can take care of myself.”
She
turned to walk away and he caught her easily by the waist and tossed
her across his saddle.
“ Nobody
as beautiful as you should be in this forest alone.” He said.
“You have no idea of what lurks here.”
“ Oh
I think I have a pretty good idea,” Lania said. Turning her
head to look back at the forest she saw pan standing forlornly near
the edge of the woods and caught a glimpse of shining armor. She
waved at them and they waved back then disappeared into the forest.
Lania
turned her face forward, resting her cheek on the broad back of the
man carrying her into her future.
Hungry Like The Wolf
Hungry Like
The Wolf: Paranormal Erotica
The
sound of the surf on the shore woke Layla from a deep slumber. She
rolled over, pressing her nose into the lilac-scented pillowcase and
inhaled deeply. That smell was one she had grown up with, it was the
smell of summer: lilacs in her bed and the tang of salt creeping
through the open windows.
She
sat up, her slim body shucking off the faded old covers and stretched
with all her might. The air coming in was a bit too cool, typical
weather for an early June morning on the Maine seashore. She shivered
and forced herself to get up, walking carefully, on tiptoe, across
the old pine floor to the bentwood rocker where she had tossed her
sunny yellow terrycloth robe the night before. Belting it tightly
around her waist in order to conceal her boy short panties and
camisole she headed into the kitchen and started up the ancient
coffeemaker, smiling when she discovered a loaf of bread and a jar of
honey in the cabinets.
Twenty
minutes later as she was crunching the last of her toast and sipping
her second cup of coffee the sound of a car pulling into the driveway
caught her attention. She frowned and stood up, her hands going to
the disheveled mass of blonde curls rioting around her face and
across her shoulders.
The
bell rang and she stood there, undecided. A quick peek out the
windows showed her it was exactly who she had hoped and feared it
would be: Lucas Black, the incredibly sexy Sheriff that she had grown
up with and chased like mad as a kid and then as a love-struck
teenager. She had wanted to kill him when she had been eleven, he was
the jerk that always put frogs in her lunch box at Bible study camp
and cut half of one of her braids off when she fell asleep during the
wedding of her best friend’s brother.
By
the time she had been fifteen she had waited impatiently for summer
to roll around so she could see his handsome face again. She spent
nine months of every year at home in Boston plotting how to get him
to pay attention to her.
He
had, finally. For one summer, four years ago when Layla had been
eighteen, he had been entirely hers, but then he had broken it off
abruptly and without warning. It had broken her heart, and now,
standing in the kitchen of her grandmother’s homey little
cottage she found herself torn between opening the door and asking
him in and leaving him to wait on the front porch, shivering in the
salty air.
Lucas
rang again and through the windows she could see the frown pulling
creases into his high forehead. He was as handsome as ever, of
course. She had kind of hoped he would have gained weight, went bald
or had an eye gouged out by now. She’d even settle for a
snaggle-tooth. At the very least he could have looked a bit unhappy
or glum as he stood
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