Read Online The Haunted Sultan (Skeleton Key) by Gillian Zane, Skeleton Key - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gillian Zane, Skeleton Key
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pumping and they were both covered in blood.
He stared down at her in horror. The world shifted and his ears popped. It hurt, like the time he had been on a plane when it had plummeted too fast during turbulence.
His double vision rectified, fading into one. Fading into one house of horrors.
The drapes that decorated the walls were shredded. They were shredded by the victims desperate to get away. One still clung to the fabric, wrapped in it, her body torn, ripped to shreds, her intestines were no longer inside of her, but hung loose from her body in thick, red ropes.
Sierra touched him and her soft hands drew him back, drew him back to the pleasure. He looked down at her body and his own clenched in want. In need. In must have. He shook his head to clear it. This wasn’t right. What they were doing wasn’t right. This wasn’t him. He traced a finger over the pattern of her tattoos. He wanted to look closely at them, figure out what they meant.
She felt so good. He wanted to come again and again in her. Make her his. Make her unable to ever leave.
His own thoughts scared him. His ears popped again.
“Sierra, no, Sierra.” He pushed her hands away and shook her by the shoulders.
“This is wrong, this is so wrong.” He was on the verge of sobbing. He was so thrown off by his surroundings. This was so unbelievably wrong. He had taken this woman, a woman he had only recently met, in a pool of blood. Her back was coated in it. Her eyes were unfocused and she reached for him, focused on one thing, pleasure. He drew in a sharp breath, trying to resist the call of her touch. The urge to fall back into her, to lose himself. Something he wanted desperately to do. He didn’t want to stay in this reality. This horror. He wanted to fall back into the spell. He was still buried inside of her…all it took was one thrust and the spell would be back.
Spell. That was it. It had to be some kind of thrall they were in. His muddled thoughts put two and two together. He would never have given himself so readily to the moment like this. The reality had to be the blood, the death, the rank odor of the dead. It had to be. There was no other explanation. Even though it was such a terrible reality.
“Sierra.” He shook her. Her eyes remained unfocused. She pulled on his arm, moaning, begging for him.
“Sierra,” he said again more insistently and he shook her harder. Her head snapped to the side, banging into the leg of a chair. Her hands flew up, the pain jolting her out of the lust filled world she had been stuck within.
He knew he had her when her eyes widened in horror and she covered her breasts demurely, whimpering when she saw the blood on her hands. Owen got to his feet and rummaged around for his shirt, handing it to her. She slipped it over her head gratefully.
He pulled on his pants and shoes and pulled her to her feet. His shirt fell to her thighs and for some reason he found that sexier than when she was nude and underneath him. He pulled her to him and began brushing off the stuffing from the pillow that had been their makeshift bed.
“What happened to us?” she said, looking anywhere but at him.
“I think we were trapped in some kind of lust spell, I don’t know. That’s the only thing I can think of. Spell. That’s my answer. What the ever living fuck?” He went to run a hand through his hair but thought better of it and wiped his palms on his jeans.
“Before this trip I didn’t believe in ghosts or spells or anything, but what we did, that wasn’t natural. What happened to us, that’s not me, I would never.” He tried to explain it the best way he could without being insulting. Hard to do when they were trying to avoid stepping on body parts and he had just screwed her brains out for God knows how long.
“Are these ghosts?” She looked down at the dead around her, tears were running down her cheeks. The horror was so immense it was surreal, almost unbelievable. Owen processed it all like he
He stared down at her in horror. The world shifted and his ears popped. It hurt, like the time he had been on a plane when it had plummeted too fast during turbulence.
His double vision rectified, fading into one. Fading into one house of horrors.
The drapes that decorated the walls were shredded. They were shredded by the victims desperate to get away. One still clung to the fabric, wrapped in it, her body torn, ripped to shreds, her intestines were no longer inside of her, but hung loose from her body in thick, red ropes.
Sierra touched him and her soft hands drew him back, drew him back to the pleasure. He looked down at her body and his own clenched in want. In need. In must have. He shook his head to clear it. This wasn’t right. What they were doing wasn’t right. This wasn’t him. He traced a finger over the pattern of her tattoos. He wanted to look closely at them, figure out what they meant.
She felt so good. He wanted to come again and again in her. Make her his. Make her unable to ever leave.
His own thoughts scared him. His ears popped again.
“Sierra, no, Sierra.” He pushed her hands away and shook her by the shoulders.
“This is wrong, this is so wrong.” He was on the verge of sobbing. He was so thrown off by his surroundings. This was so unbelievably wrong. He had taken this woman, a woman he had only recently met, in a pool of blood. Her back was coated in it. Her eyes were unfocused and she reached for him, focused on one thing, pleasure. He drew in a sharp breath, trying to resist the call of her touch. The urge to fall back into her, to lose himself. Something he wanted desperately to do. He didn’t want to stay in this reality. This horror. He wanted to fall back into the spell. He was still buried inside of her…all it took was one thrust and the spell would be back.
Spell. That was it. It had to be some kind of thrall they were in. His muddled thoughts put two and two together. He would never have given himself so readily to the moment like this. The reality had to be the blood, the death, the rank odor of the dead. It had to be. There was no other explanation. Even though it was such a terrible reality.
“Sierra.” He shook her. Her eyes remained unfocused. She pulled on his arm, moaning, begging for him.
“Sierra,” he said again more insistently and he shook her harder. Her head snapped to the side, banging into the leg of a chair. Her hands flew up, the pain jolting her out of the lust filled world she had been stuck within.
He knew he had her when her eyes widened in horror and she covered her breasts demurely, whimpering when she saw the blood on her hands. Owen got to his feet and rummaged around for his shirt, handing it to her. She slipped it over her head gratefully.
He pulled on his pants and shoes and pulled her to her feet. His shirt fell to her thighs and for some reason he found that sexier than when she was nude and underneath him. He pulled her to him and began brushing off the stuffing from the pillow that had been their makeshift bed.
“What happened to us?” she said, looking anywhere but at him.
“I think we were trapped in some kind of lust spell, I don’t know. That’s the only thing I can think of. Spell. That’s my answer. What the ever living fuck?” He went to run a hand through his hair but thought better of it and wiped his palms on his jeans.
“Before this trip I didn’t believe in ghosts or spells or anything, but what we did, that wasn’t natural. What happened to us, that’s not me, I would never.” He tried to explain it the best way he could without being insulting. Hard to do when they were trying to avoid stepping on body parts and he had just screwed her brains out for God knows how long.
“Are these ghosts?” She looked down at the dead around her, tears were running down her cheeks. The horror was so immense it was surreal, almost unbelievable. Owen processed it all like he
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