a frightening degree. Takeshi’s kiss held a flash of pain, followed by the most amazing taste sensation. Wonder erupted. Rapture ensued. It sparked an inferno of desire. That kiss redirected her breath. Seized her heart. Possessed her every moment. The symphony of reaction resembled a work of art. And then he’d moved his attention to her neck and delivered a masterpiece. His touch at her throat shot spikes of liquid thrill right to her core. And then they got sucked right back out.
Christine writhed and moaned, caught up in a craze of passion beyond imagining. Transcending experience. Obliterating reality. Demanding action. And she wanted more.
Eternal amounts more.
They rolled. To one side of the mattress. Then the other. He gained the top position. Then she did. Again. As though jockeying for dominance. Silk caressed every move. Her hair wound about them in locks of reddish-brown. All of it affixing. Binding. Restricting. The room shifted, somehow going brighter. Christine rolled atop him again. This time she pushed against his chest, stopping their roll, and he let her, although he grunted as he released her throat. She shimmied upward, straddling his hips in order to press against him, groin to groin, and... oh my ! A bubble of pleasure caught in her throat as she got a dose of Takeshi’s size. The man was massive. And hard. Thick. Readied. She slid back and forth along his length in what room he gave her. It wasn’t much. He’d moved his hands, locking them about her waist, holding her in place with a grip that shook. And...wait.
Were those... fangs ?
Oh shit, Christine .
The fire had grown from a bed of embers. A side-cast glance verified it. Flames shot upward, barely confined in the pit, shedding light that flared and flickered. Illuminated and shadowed. Defined and hid. She was light-headed. Woozy. Christine watched with pent breath as the entire room began a slow spin. It spiraled clockwise. Dots mixed in next. Weird dots. They danced about in a myriad of patterns. Sometimes looming large. Then going pinhead small. The bed linens were no longer black, either. They were covered with streaks of red.
Blood red.
And it was wet.
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, despite how the spinning sensation worsened. It wasn’t possible. She refused to believe it. She was seeing things. Imagining worse. She’d gone to too many horror movies. Experienced too many shock flicks. That was it. She was imbuing this unbelievably fantasy experience with vampiric overtones because she must subconsciously want it. That must be it. That’s why she saw what looked like blood. And fangs. Her imagination was working overtime. And it was doing one hell of a job.
Ends of her hair tickled the backs of her ankles. She grabbed a breath, catching incense-laden air. She inhaled it anyway, waiting long moments as her mind sought meaning. Reality. Explanation. And even with this weirdness, she was still amazingly excited. Burning with a fever of desire in a cauldron of passion. Yet verging on swooning at the same time? How was that possible? She’d never felt so strange. Out of control. Frenzied. Wild. It was fantasy-intriguing and scary-sexy. The faint feeling was up against a ferocious amount of passion, and getting its butt kicked.
And passion won.
She opened her eyes, looked down at Takeshi’s torso, and knew exactly when it happened, too. Her heart became its own entity, thundering into prominence, each beat sending heavy drum-like sounds. It had an echo. His heartbeat joined in, matching the cadence exactly. The beat dragged every motion into rhythm with it. And the vortex was dissipating. Slowing. And Takeshi was at the center, planted between her legs.
Oh baby!
She’d been dead-on with his physique. His body wasn’t just fantastic. He was absolute, jaw-dropping, masculine perfection. His chest rose and fell, alternately lifting and dropping her. Over and over. Christine shoved her fingers along his skin,
Christine writhed and moaned, caught up in a craze of passion beyond imagining. Transcending experience. Obliterating reality. Demanding action. And she wanted more.
Eternal amounts more.
They rolled. To one side of the mattress. Then the other. He gained the top position. Then she did. Again. As though jockeying for dominance. Silk caressed every move. Her hair wound about them in locks of reddish-brown. All of it affixing. Binding. Restricting. The room shifted, somehow going brighter. Christine rolled atop him again. This time she pushed against his chest, stopping their roll, and he let her, although he grunted as he released her throat. She shimmied upward, straddling his hips in order to press against him, groin to groin, and... oh my ! A bubble of pleasure caught in her throat as she got a dose of Takeshi’s size. The man was massive. And hard. Thick. Readied. She slid back and forth along his length in what room he gave her. It wasn’t much. He’d moved his hands, locking them about her waist, holding her in place with a grip that shook. And...wait.
Were those... fangs ?
Oh shit, Christine .
The fire had grown from a bed of embers. A side-cast glance verified it. Flames shot upward, barely confined in the pit, shedding light that flared and flickered. Illuminated and shadowed. Defined and hid. She was light-headed. Woozy. Christine watched with pent breath as the entire room began a slow spin. It spiraled clockwise. Dots mixed in next. Weird dots. They danced about in a myriad of patterns. Sometimes looming large. Then going pinhead small. The bed linens were no longer black, either. They were covered with streaks of red.
Blood red.
And it was wet.
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, despite how the spinning sensation worsened. It wasn’t possible. She refused to believe it. She was seeing things. Imagining worse. She’d gone to too many horror movies. Experienced too many shock flicks. That was it. She was imbuing this unbelievably fantasy experience with vampiric overtones because she must subconsciously want it. That must be it. That’s why she saw what looked like blood. And fangs. Her imagination was working overtime. And it was doing one hell of a job.
Ends of her hair tickled the backs of her ankles. She grabbed a breath, catching incense-laden air. She inhaled it anyway, waiting long moments as her mind sought meaning. Reality. Explanation. And even with this weirdness, she was still amazingly excited. Burning with a fever of desire in a cauldron of passion. Yet verging on swooning at the same time? How was that possible? She’d never felt so strange. Out of control. Frenzied. Wild. It was fantasy-intriguing and scary-sexy. The faint feeling was up against a ferocious amount of passion, and getting its butt kicked.
And passion won.
She opened her eyes, looked down at Takeshi’s torso, and knew exactly when it happened, too. Her heart became its own entity, thundering into prominence, each beat sending heavy drum-like sounds. It had an echo. His heartbeat joined in, matching the cadence exactly. The beat dragged every motion into rhythm with it. And the vortex was dissipating. Slowing. And Takeshi was at the center, planted between her legs.
Oh baby!
She’d been dead-on with his physique. His body wasn’t just fantastic. He was absolute, jaw-dropping, masculine perfection. His chest rose and fell, alternately lifting and dropping her. Over and over. Christine shoved her fingers along his skin,
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