November is, of course, National Novel Writing Month! This year I'm working on Book 3 of the Blood and Fire series: and adventure through Russia called Winter Hearts. During November, our regular Free Read posts will feature excerpts from this year's (as yet unedited) project.
Sascha rubbed at the back of her neck. Heat bloomed under her skin, creeping and uncomfortable.
She’d dreamed of the vampire. Of the bloodthirsty Archon Donovan, waiting in the rooms above. The whole scene replayed in her mind: the fire in the room’s hearth shining off Rhiannon’s glossy auburn hair and her long, lean body.
And the smooth leather of the imitation cock jutting up from between her thighs.
Sascha groaned and put her head in her hands. Her cheeks flamed.
She’d come to Rhiannon with a strange, unfamiliar eagerness. Their lips met, over and over, the vampire’s hands combing through Sascha’s soft blonde mane as fascinated Sascha palmed the phallus between them. Its firm length warmed under her caress, and somewhere deep in her most secret, primitive self a hot desire bloomed. She’d dreamed of hunger not completely unknown to her, but untested. Unexplored. Unnecessary, until the moment it overtook her like a ravenous carnivore inside.
The ghost of the feeling lingered on her, even awake. She collapsed back to her mattress, casting her arm over her eyes. The wanting, already wild when she first woke, loomed over her with a senseless urgency. It made her all at once angry, wistful, and confused.
And for Donovan? Of all people, this comes because of Donovan?
Why never for Sveta? Surely I’ve been closer to no one else in all my life. Surely I loved her, could share anything with her. Or Castilev? An incubus, an incubus I interact with every day, if I must come over hot and bothered all of a sudden, why can’t it at least make sense?
Kissing the vampire...embracing her. Sascha imagined Rhiannon undressing her, whisking away her peasant blouse to reveal skinny breasts, hardly a handful each and capped with prim, rosy nipples. Those same nipples ached now in the darkness, stiff under Sascha’s rough nightgown, as in her mind the vampire’s hot red tongue rolled over them and over them. Warm lips kissed, an eager mouth sucked.
And oh...her fangs. Her fangs, wouldn’t they feel just so wicked?
“Yes,” she whispered, not even realizing she’d spoken at all. She ran her fingers through her hair, gripping it as though gripping at the dream itself.
The Donovan in her dreams let Sascha crawl atop her, pulled Sascha forward so she could find the tender, virgin cunt hidden under ragged skirts. A long tongue slid up to taste her, slowly savoring the valley of her flesh, lavishing Sascha’s naked flesh with understanding affection. Even under cover of sleep, Sascha knew the illicit pleasure of bashfulness and shame, and with joy found herself overpowered by pleasure anyway. She’d opened to it, welcomed the vampire to show it to her, and gave over in curiosity to what Rhiannon Donovan had in store. The soft, gentle swell of Rhiannon’s tongue entered her like a lovely new friend, and with sweet, hot, wet invasion, she feasted on Sascha’s pussy. Her tongue delved in deep, and withdrew with sneaky promise; she laved at a startled pink clitoris and devoured dainty pink lips. And then came another thick, deep stroke and Sascha wriggled above her with a long moan, greedy for more. In the dream Rhiannon’s hungry work carried Sascha high over the moon, driving and cultivating carnal indulgence up and up and up, while the poor witch cried out in helpless joy. She came in a rush of ecstasy, fattened on wicked greed.
In the dark, Sascha turned on her side. Her free hand traveled down underneath her nightgown, curious over the lingering, smoldering want still burning within her. Between her thighs she found herself wet and hot, and her own flesh jumped at the brush of her fingertips.
And the toy, of course. The firm, warm leather cock belted between Rhiannon’s thighs. The vampire readied it with a smooth, light oil, guiding Sascha to all fours before the fire. Strong hands explored Sascha’s cunt from a new angle: gentle fingers caressed her, slid inside of her, invited her to open once more. Rhiannon’s thumbs pressed lightly against her second entrance, not so far as to penetrate but only to tease, to make Sascha moan and press back, delighted. The head of the leather cock slid up and down the wet cleft of her vulva, firm as it pressed close, slick and smooth against her.
Then Rhiannon guided it inside of her. It slid deep into her body with perfect grace, plump and firm in the hot sheath of her cunt. Desperation swallowed her: from the instant Rhiannon’s ready cock found its place, Sascha knew nothing but the heady desire to satisfy herself on it like a hedonistic beast.
Rhiannon made love to her, though, with careful attention and knowing patience. She rocked her hips in languid strides like a lissome feline, thrust into Sascha's cunt with sweet, slow rhythm, tormenting her with each stroke. She refused to give in and go harder no matter how the little witch begged. Sascha moaned for her, swore in breathless intoxication, begged for the vampire to release her from the teasing. Rhiannon knew her business: she moved a pace just light enough to keep Sascha trembling, and never release her. But oh, oh, oh, how Sascha pleaded for the final raucous, all-out thrusting, the hot gallop towards completion, until it seemed her words no longer made any sense and her body no longer understood anything but the sweet penetration of Rhiannon’s beautiful phallus.
In her bed, Sascha let her hands glide down her ivory thighs. Rhiannon's hands glided just so—no, would glide just so, would when she took her shadow-walker to bed or some other lover. Maybe a different witch, one with no reluctance. They would slide around a lover’s waist, as in the dream, strong palms taking hold, guiding both of them into an arching, cresting cadence. Sascha pictured herself under Rhiannon’s hands, rolling and meeting the vampire’s thrusts, welcoming the slick leather phallus and the surrender it demanded. She thought of Rhiannon twisting one free hand in her long, blonde tangles and tilting her head back, dropping a kiss upon Sascha’s mouth.
“But why her?” Sascha demanded of the darkness. She brought her fists down on her mattress with a fruitless growl. “Why, of all people, at all times, her?”