“You drive me beyond crazy. Do you know this?”
Lucifer to Annabelle, from ‘Sins of Oz’, sequel to ‘The Devil of Oz’.
~ Brandon and Christina-Rose’s First Christmas Eve ~
I drop my eyes, birds forgotten as every cell in my body jumps to high alert and I shiver as the fine hairs on my nape and arms rise as my skin erupts in a rash of goose-flesh. My mouth dries up and I swallow in an attempt to provide some moisture.
I’m hyper-aware of the weight of Brandon’s heavy arm draped possessively around the back of my neck, his hand casually falling over my shoulder the strong, well-defined muscles of his biceps and forearms flexing and softening as his fingers languidly stroke the skin over my collarbone. In my ears, the rapid whoosh-whoosh as my heated blood races like liquid-fire through my veins deafens me to my own escalating breaths.
And it’s all because of Brandon’s gorgeous hard, warm body wrapped around me.
I drag back a long lazy breath through my nostrils and release it as a low moan as I smell the delicious male scent drifting off him. It’s a heady, intoxicating combination of sea, body-wash, his earthy-woodsy cologne, sex and Brandon-smell.
As if sensing the intensity of my gaze, he leans back and tilts his head, his lips quirking up at the corner as his eyes roam over my face. I lick my lips and squirm on the towel as his green eyes darken, and instinctively my trembling hand rises to stroke the base of my throat as undisguised desire flashes across their onyx depths.
At his look of raw hunger, I inhale sharply the resulting sound lost beneath the ocean’s roar. I feel slightly lightheaded as his eyes drop to my mouth, and without pause or shame, greedily skim down my throat to my aching breasts which are only barely contained in the tiny triangles of my new pale lime bikini.
With his free hand he pats his lap, and growls, “Come here darlin’.”
My heart ratchets up another notch at the raging need I hear in his three simple words. Panting and without waiting for him to repeat the request, I kneel and placing my hands on his broad shoulders to steady myself I swing a leg over his lap. Straddling his outstretched legs I lower myself down.
He moans, his eyes closing momentarily as I brace myself on his thighs and grind against the hardness of his erection that I feel just below my own heated aroused flesh.
“I love you Brandon,” I croon, my head tipping back, my curls brushing against my shoulder blades as I shamelessly rock backwards and forwards over him.
His hands rise, and cupping my breasts he very slowly and with feather-like touches traces the inner rim of my bikini cups with his thumbs.
Oh god please touch me more, I beg silently, wildly grinding my pelvis against his as I push my breasts forward into the sanctuary of his large palms.
“Fuck me Rosebud,” he hums as he slams his mouth against mine, his tongue stroking across the seam of my lips, begging entry while his thumbs continue their sensual torture.
Running my hands down his arms, I curl my fingers into his forearms feeling the pull and release of the muscles as they ripple beneath the skin with his hands’ movements. He groans into my mouth as our kiss deepens, our tongues tangling and dancing as our passion sparks and bursts into flames which threaten to incinerate everything around us.
Brandon is relentless as he explores every inch of my mouth, and I dig my nails deeper into his skin as his expert tongue strokes my teeth, my palate, and my tongue. Drawing my bottom lip into his mouth he sucks and nibbles at it with an intensity that borders on painful before breaking the kiss with one last sweeping lick of my bottom lip and pulling back, his eyes never leaving my face.
In the dying light I see his eyes widen, the green of his irises a slender ring of colour surrounding the glittering black of his pupils. Lowering my eyes I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard.
“What you fuckin’ do to me woman. I’ve never felt this way ‘bout a chick before.” He takes in a deep noisy breath, his chest expanding and then releases it in a nervous shudder which I feel right through to my bones, “I love you my beautiful Rosebud,” he confesses quietly and my heart stutters as I hear the wonder and awe in his voice.
My vision blurs and I blink in quick succession as my eyes prickle. “Oh Brandon,” I stammer, my voice catching with emotion as my throat thickens with the tears I refuse to shed.
Leaning down I capture his face in-between my palms, the short bristles of his shadowy beard tickling my skin as I kiss him. It’s just a short sweet kiss, but I attempt to put all of my passion and unspoken feelings into it and hope that he understands. My heart swells with the intensity of my love for this man. I never knew you could feel so strongly for someone that it was almost as if you became one soul, one body that shared every inhalation and exhalation, every steady beat of the heart, every desire of the heart.
The strength of the feelings Brandon wrings from body with his caresses make my belly clench and my toes curl up, and from a place outside of myself I feel the sand beneath the towel form trenches as I wriggle my toes backwards and forwards.
I’m freaking itching to touch him.
I want to unwrap him out of these boardie shorts that he wears so damn fine and work him with my hands and mouth until he’s begging me to stop in one breath and growling at me to never fucking stop in the next. I want to trace the inky outlines of his hip to hip tattoo, the secret one that only I ever get to see.
At this thought I moan as hot molten desire floods my belly while deep inside, my muscles clench with a sweet sharp pain.
I’m panting and as the rising sea breeze blows my curls forward I release his arms and drag my hands across to his chest, tracing the dips and valleys of his sculpted torso with fingertips that tingle as I commit each muscle that makes up his spectacular six-pack to my memory. Beneath my touch his abdomen ripples and then tenses as he sucks back a hissing breath through his clenched jaw.
I smile at the sound of his rising excitement and feeling all powerful and like the queen of seductresses, I run my finger beneath the waistband of his shorts and slowly slide it from hip to hip, the coarse pubic hair beneath tickling the pad of my index finger.
“Jesus Rosebud, I’m gonna fuckin’ blow in my shorts if you keep that up,” he groans, sounding as if he’s in pain.
I splay my other hand above his breastbone, and watch as it rises and falls sharply with his shallow quick breaths. Slowly trailing my fingers down, I stroke the pathway of downy hair which leads me straight to his wondrous erection. I lick my lips as I remember how it is to take him in my mouth, watching awestruck as my darling rough man unravels before my eyes.
He growls low in the back of his throat, a primal guttural sound, tearing me from my erotic daydreams and I glance away from his belly to his face. His hooded eyes are watching the movements of his hands and fingers as they skate across the swell of my breasts like a hawk on a mouse.
Helpless in the face of his lust, I lean my head back and thrust my chest up, my crotch slamming against his, as he tilts his hips towards me. I bite back my cry as the sweet agony of his hardness against my softness makes my mind buzz and my body dissolve into a quivering puddle of need.
I’m drowning, lost in the sensations that he’s drawing so expertly from my body. Brandon’s touch is directly wired to the swollen bundle of nerves smack bang in the apex of my thighs and my mouth waters up. I’m aching with my need for him, for his touch.
He spares a quick glance to either side of us and I feel the tension leave him as he sees how alone we are. “You’re sexy as fuck sitting up there. Shall I take you now, hard and quick or shall I wait until we get home?” He mouths the question at me and I see his eyes glittering with wicked, hot lust.
I groan as my arousal floods my swimmer bottoms, beneath my thighs I can feel the front of his swimmers dampen. Without breaking eye contact, and not caring about the puddle I’m leaving in his lap, he slides his fingers beneath the material covering my breasts and pushes it to the side, freeing my breasts to the evening air.
My mouth drops open and I gasp. “Shit this feels so naughty, what if someone sees us?”
He pauses at my words.
“There’s no fucker here darlin’. We’ve got the entire friggin’ beach to ourselves. They’ve all fucked off back home.” He leans forward and feathers kisses over the swell of my breasts, his next words muffled against my hot skin, “D’ya want me to stop? I don’t really wanna, but I will. For you,” he says with a low wicked chuckle as his palms graze my breasts.
I almost scream aloud with frustration, because I know that like me, he really doesn’t want to stop. Breathing shallowly I force myself to beg quietly instead, “Please don’t stop Brandon. I want you.”
I chew on my bottom lip, my body out of my control as I squirm and groan with need. As he cups my heavy, swollen breasts in the cradles of his large hands, he runs the pads of his thumbs backwards and forwards over my sensitive hard nipples, teasing them and I cry out as my sex pulses with my savage need for him.
The contact makes me shiver uncontrollably as it sends jolts of electricity racing out across the surface of my skin.
Dropping his hands he undoes the bows at the sides of my bikini bottoms and with a deft flick of his wrist he whips them off, dropping them by our side, leaving me tits out and bare-arsed naked.
I blush and swallow, but any embarrassment I’m feeling is quickly pushed to the back of my mind as he shifts beneath me, followed by a quick scritch. I squirm with excitement as I recognise the sound of his shorts undoing.
He hisses back a sharp breath. “Fuck! Jesus Rosebud, wait up a second. Ya gonna squash me,” he says, his voice rough with desire and with another short wriggle he releases his erection and I look down, my lips parting as I watch it spring up hard and thick.
“Just lift up a bit darlin’,” he orders. As I comply, he takes himself in hand and I eagerly lower myself down onto him. We both sigh noisily with pleasure as he slowly sinks into me, my aroused state easily accommodating his swollen girth.
“Fuck me, you feel so goddamned perfect,” he pants and with one slick move he shifts and suddenly I find myself beneath him. Bracing his weight on his elbows by the side of my head he cradles the sides of my face tightly between his palms and lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me with a passion which makes colours blaze and shift behind my closed eyelids. Breaking the kiss, he drops his head, his lips brushing against my ear, his breaths harsh and ragged as he rocks into me.
💑 💑 💑
As we lay curled and lost in each other, the last of the light fades and like magic the sky turns dark purple. Brandon shifts beside me on the towel, the sand squeaking with the weight of his movements. I feel his arm flex tightly around my shoulders, and he sighs, long and deep as he pulls me in closer.
Gently cradling the side of my face, he tucks me into the crook of his neck. Holding me tightly, it feels as if he never wants to release me and my heart speeds up as he presses sweet kisses to my head.
“Our first Christmas together darlin’,” he whispers into my curls, his fingers stroking the sun-touched skin on my bicep, the answering sting of my sunburn barely registering on my ‘care-meter’.
Closing my eyes I melt as his calloused fingertips continue to trace lazy patterns.
He clears his throat and my head moves up and down with his breathing. “Are you happy Rosebud? D’ya regret coming here?” he asks haltingly, his low, wickedly sensual voice rumbling through my body and breaking the spell his clever fingers were weaving.
My brows crease and then quickly smooth over at the hidden question that I hear in his voice — Do you regret coming here with me? Brandon hides his Achilles heel well.
His fear of me leaving him.
It’s buried deep within him, and very rarely peeks out. But every now and then, his steel-mask will slip, giving me a swift glimpse of the vulnerable, unsure man lurking beneath the hardened, tough-as-nails exterior.
I blink back my urge to cry as I hear the pain in his unspoken question. For a man who’d screwed nearly every woman back home, this version of Brandon is almost unnerving. Gone was my cocky, arrogant and dangerous man, replaced with an unsure, almost shy boy.
Pressing my lips together to control the trembling of my bottom lip, I place my hand on his bare chest, below the lines of his dragon’s fierce fire-breathing mouth. Splaying my fingers over his warm soft skin, I hold my breath as I feel the rapid tattoo of his heart beating like a frightened bird beneath my palm.
Exhaling slowly I kiss the bristly scruff on his cheek, which is a contradiction in texture, bristly but soft.
“God yes, I’m deliriously happy. Crazy, mad, squirly happy.” My heart beats harder and my love for this man floods my body, making every cell and pore tingle. “As long as I’m with you Brandon, I would go anywhere, live anywhere. I’d grip your hand and follow you to the ends of the earth and never want to let go,” I murmur into his neck, tasting the salt of the ocean air on my lips as I press kisses to his skin. “I love you. All of you. Your good, your bad, your crazy. Your everything.”
He squeezes me tighter and moans low in his throat and my toes curl with the fierce desire I hear in just that one sound.
His head bobs subtly and seemingly satisfied with my answer, we lapse back into a comfortable silence. Brandon shifts and places an arm beneath his head and I lay my head on the warm skin of his chest, my fingers idly playing with the hair on his chest as we both watch the approaching storm. Vivid white streaks brutally slash through the canvas of the black horizon while the sound of the waves crashing against the shore blends with the rumble of thunder.
The air fills with the expectant crackle of static as the storm draws closer and in the darkness I hear the howl of the wind through the sand-dunes behind us and I shiver as the hairs on my nape and arms to rise.
“Time to go darlin’, don’t wanna get caught out in this bastard,” Brandon tells me and clasping my hand he rises to his feet and tugs me into his arms. Bending, he hands me my beach tote and quickly scoops the towel up, shakes it and then gathers the remains of our Christmas Eve feast back into the carry bag.
Hiking the bag over his shoulder, I squeal as he sweeps me off my feet and up into his arms. Planting a kiss to the end of my nose he laughs and cradles me to his broad chest as he turns and heads for the trail over the sand-dunes which leads home.
“Fuck,” he spits and I feel us lurch forward. “Can ya get ya phone out and shine it down so I can see what I just trod on?” he asks. As I grope awkwardly in my bag a flash of lightning lights up the sky. His body bends to the side and I sway in his arms, hearing a tinny thud as something lands heavily in the scrubby brush growing wild on either side of the sandy path.
“Motherfucker,” he growls and I feel the vibration of his voice rumble up into me through his chest. “Some bastard left a buried can in the sand,” he explains.
💑 💑 💑
Holding the screen door ajar with his bare foot Brandon opened the side door which led into the kitchen, and stepped through, letting the door swing shut with a bang behind us. Without pausing, he followed the wash of blue, green and red which danced over the walls and ceiling — courtesy of our Christmas tree’s tracer lights — down the hallway and into our modestly furnished lounge-room.
Cradling me to his chest with one arm, he roughly shakes the bag off his other shoulder, letting it drop down his arm and onto the floor with a noisy clatter of plastic plates, empty beer bottles and half-eaten tubs of food.
I smile at this typical Brandon-quirk and then whisper a quick prayer in hope that none of the lids have popped off, spewing the remains of our feast all through the inside of the bag. That’ll be a total bitch to clean, I think absentmindedly.
Placing me on the lounge he gathers the bag up and takes it into the kitchen, returning with a beer and an icy soft-drink. Handing me the cola he flops onto the lounge beside me, leans his head against the head-rest and spreading his legs he grasps the top of the bottle with his thumb and index finger deftly twisting. With a rapid jerk of his thick wrist the bottle releases a loud phssht and after taking a long pull he flicks the redundant jagged circle of metal across the room. It lands with a guilty tinkle amongst the nest of prettily wrapped parcels squatting beneath our twinkling Christmas tree like eggs beneath a broody hen.
I swivel my head and stare at him, a giggle bubbling up in my throat. I swallow it back down as I pretend to be put out by his yobbo behaviour.
Tensing he turns to me and I can’t help but giggle at the naughty look which flashes across his beautiful features.
“The fuckin’ bastard just flew out of my fingers, I swear.” He holds his beer hand up against the wrong side of his chest in a weird cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die-type-vow as he says it and then his face creases and his eyes light up with mirth as he laughs, a deep happy laugh as he watches my brow rise. “Shit, okay darlin’, I get it. The floor is not a fuckin’ tip. Jesus Rosebud ya bustin’ my balls here.”
Leaning over me he plants a kiss on my lips, and with an exaggerated sigh, rises and rummages around in amongst the presents. “I can’t find the fucker, but…” he moves the mysterious boxes aside and stands cradling an exquisitely wrapped present in his arms. “I found this. I know it’s not Christmas, yet, but I can’t fuckin’ wait to give you this,” he says as he struts back to the lounge.
For a moment my world fades to just long swaying dark hair, intense glowing green eyes, heaving rippling torso and low, hip skimming shorts.
Who needs Christmas presents when the most perfect one is right in-front of me all year round? I muse silently. And I can unwrap it whenever I want.
I swallow and then cough as the chill drink slides down the wrong way.
He parks himself beside me again and tucking his leg beneath him he swivels, kisses me and after taking my drink and placing it down on the floor at our feet he hands me the present.
I melt at the love shining in his eyes.
“Open it,” he demands, his voice raspy.
“But…I have to get yours as….” I protest, my throat closing with the rush of emotions that swamp me as I finger the delicate tulle ribbons in festive red and green entwined so elegantly around a wrapping of tiny white snowflakes against a black backdrop.
I raise my eyes to his and my breath catches as I see him chewing his lip. Raising my hand I pull it free and moving so swiftly I don’t even see it he grabs my fingers in his free hand bringing them back to his mouth, lovingly touching hot kisses to each tip.
“No you fuckin’ don’t. I can wait for mine but I can’t wait to give you one of yours.”
I gaze at him, my mouth dropping open. “There are more than one?” I stammer.
He drops his brows, and a look of confusion sweeps across his features.
“Yeah. Whacha think? I’d only get ya the one fuckin’ pissy little gift? No way José, it’s fuckin’ balls to the wall where you’re concerned darlin’. Now c’mon and rip that fucker open, I’m dying here.” He tips his beer back and his throat works as he swallows the remains of the bottle before holding his hand over the floor and opening his fingers, the bottle landing with a hollow clunk before rolling away to rest half-way across the room. I glance at it, following its progress, but this time I just shake my head and say nothing. I know Brandon will pick it up later.
From the darkened rooms behind us I hear a faint tinkle as Missy wakes and runs past, her little claws click-clacking across the tiled floor as she heads into the kitchen to have a feed.
“I see the rat’s awake,” Brandon chuckles, pointing at my unopened present he barks, “Present Rosebud. Open. Now.”
“Jeesh Brandon hold your horses, I’m doing it,” I reply, and laugh as I see the nervous pop and tick of the muscles in his jaw as he grinds his teeth, a trait I’ve come to recognise as typical worry-wart-Brandon. Whenever he feels stressed, he grinds his teeth, or works his jaw like he’s chewing gum.
He’ll have no teeth left soon if he doesn’t chill, I ponder silently.
Carefully undoing the bow I unravel the length of tulle from around the paper, and after painstakingly sliding my fingernail beneath the tape — eliciting a fresh round of curses from Brandon with regards to me dragging my arse — I finally peel the paper back.
Nestled inside is a cloud of white tissue paper.
Pushing the crinkly layer of paper open I hold my breath as a shining antique-style silver frame is slowly revealed. Placing the paper on my lap I reverently clasp the frame between my hands and raise it, the picture it so beautifully frames swimming in and out of focus as my eyes well.
“Don’t cry darlin’.” I feel a rough finger gently sweep below each of my eyes, wiping away my falling tears as I gaze at the photo of Brandon and I cuddling up to each other in bed, our eyes glowing with love and silly smiles tilting our lips up. He’d even had something engraved in curling script along the bottom of the frame and blinking, I clear my vision enough to make out the words.
Sunlight pales beside the dazzling beauty of your smile. Moonlight can’t compete with the glow of love in your eyes. My world spins because of my love for you and every day I rise with your name on my lips and your face in my heart.
“D’ya like it? It’s my favourite,” he whispers as he inches closer and wraps me up in his arms, his mouth slamming down on mine, his kiss full of heat and passion. “It’s not much of a present I know but….” His voice trails off as I crawl onto his lap and curl my arms around his neck drawing him to me as if he is the very air that I need to breathe.
And the more I think on that thought, the more I realise that he is. I would be rudderless, lost at sea and floundering without him. He is my anchor, my love, my other-half.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love it,” I cry against his mouth and my heart flutters like a wild bird as he locks his arms around my back and pulls me in tighter to his heaving chest. Dropping his head he nuzzles his nose against the soft skin of my throat and I mewl softly in the back of my throat.
“C’mon,” he says tugging my hand and pulling me up off the lounge and into his arms. “Bed time. It’ll be fuckin’ Christmas in…” he looks at the clock on the wall, “…two hours and I intend to use those one hundred and twenty minutes very dirtily,” he croons into my ear.
My knees tremble and I clutch him and my picture frame with whitening fingers as he leads me to our room, the twinkling festive lights illuminating our path.
The Lake House.
The day had taken a chilly turn by the time that I’d walked out of the lawyers’ offices, and wrapping my arms about myself, I shivered in spite of my lightweight cardigan and jeans. Walking back to the hotel room I’d booked for one night, I went through the half-hour meeting and frowned, still none the wiser. Not one of my cousins had been present, not that I’d really expected to see them. Instead they’d entrusted the law firm with the handling of all of the details of the house and my new ownership of it.
Dropping my head down against the breeze, I stepped in and out of shadows cast by the other buildings located along this section of the main street, my heels on the cement echoing hollowly back to me. Clayton Tops was one of those picturesque little towns that swelled during peak holiday seasons — mainly in winter — but found itself deserted at all other times of the year.
People came to this mountainous playground for the thick fluffy snow and trout fishing. I only knew this last little fact, because the spaceship-sized billboard placed on the outskirts of the town had told me as I’d driven in: Clayton Tops, the home of the rainbow trout, and who was I to doubt the word of a gigantic talking trout?
Ringed by saw-toothed mountains which still bore a light dusting of white, I imagined that it got quite busy here when winter was in full swing. In my mind’s eye I saw the footpaths and shops brimming over with hot-chocolate-toting, red-cheeked tourists, all cashed up and ready to play and party.
But now in early spring, it was quiet and peaceful. The main street was all but devoid of traffic. Only a few cars — probably locals, I assumed — scooted by me as I closed the distance between myself and the quaint Mountain Stream Hotel.
I walked up to Number 3, and inserting my key I thought how the lawyer, Mrs Grayson, hadn’t been very specific at all with anything pertaining to my late Aunt and Uncle’s wishes. “Why had they bequeathed me their long-lost niece, their house? In preference to their own flesh and blood?” I puzzled, my lips pursing as I closed the door behind me, switching on the jug on my way to the bathroom. “It’s very strange.”
As I set about making a cuppa I fetched the paperwork from my purse. Seating myself at the table I took a sip of tea and opened the fat document up, my eyes wriggling rapidly as I went back over it. My brows creased and folding it I returned it back to my bag, none the wiser.
“It’s all legal gibberish, and didn’t tell me anything,” I grumped, still just as much in the dark as I’d been an hour earlier. “Oh well, it really doesn’t matter now, the house is mine. The contract is ironclad. So yay and thank you Uncle and Aunty Randolph. I guess.” I raised my now tepid tea in a salute to my generous benefactors before adding, a smile tipping my lips up, “I’m now the proud owner of a house with a water view.”
I made a fresh cup and sat back down. Leaning back in the chair I crossed my legs, sipping my hot brew as I recalled this afternoon’s mystifying meeting. No matter how I’d worded my queries, Mrs Grayson had cleverly and blatantly glossed over the details, seeming edgy and nervous when I’d asked about the house I hadn’t visited since childhood.
Hell, it had all come of a shock to me to learn that my Aunt and Uncle had left me anything in their will. I’d assumed right from the start that my cousins would’ve fought me tooth and nail, in the courts if need be, for their family home. But the grey-haired, brisk lawyer had said without further elaboration, that they’d been more than happy for me to take ownership of L’esprit de l’eau.
I shrugged. Apparently the house at Crystal Waves Lake had been named, something about a water-spirit. It was just another detail which was news to me.
Shifting in my chair, I took a sip of tea.
I was drowning in details lately. Pausing with my cup held level at chin-height, I gave a short, sharp laugh.
“Poor word choice Geneviève, considering you’re going to live near a lake,” I declared to the empty room.
When I’d asked Mrs Grayson if she could be any more specific with relation to my aunt and uncle’s untimely deaths, she’d gone a pasty white and her mouth had dropped open like a landed fish. Unnecessarily shuffling the pile of papers placed in a neat pile before her into a tidier pile, and unable to meet my eyes straight on, she’d repeated the same spiel the police had already told me; my aunt had gone out in their small boat, fallen overboard and my uncle had drowned in his effort to save her…blah, blah, blah. Neither of their bodies had been recovered as yet, despite the concerted efforts of the SES and specialised Police divers.
After a few awkward moments of contemplative silence, Mrs Grayson coughed and sliding a thin sheaf of papers and a gold-tipped pen my way, she’d seemed way too eager to have me sign the papers which would give me sole possession of their house and evidently take the whole distasteful business from her office and mind.
Odd. Very odd, I mused as I drained my tea, and then headed to the shower. I had a big day tomorrow and I needed to try and get a good night’s sleep because tomorrow would bring me my first glimpse of, The water spirit, my brand-spanking-new home.
~ * O * ~
Slowing my car to a halt on the shoulder I shifted it into neutral, engaged the handbrake and stepped out. Closing the door I leant back against the warm metal and shading my eyes I glanced down at what was going to be my new home.
The last rays of the setting sun winked off giant glass windows which looked silently out over the darkening waters of the lake and I blinked as glints of dazzling light reflected off them and into my watering eyes.
~ * O * ~
From the inside of the house watchful eyes scanned the road and in particular the car which perched on the crest looking down onto the lake and house. Excited whispers filled the empty rooms.
“She’s here,” a masculine voice said, his voice no louder than that of a falling autumnal leaf. He spoke to the others without taking his eyes from the new arrival, “We must do all within our power this time to protect her. They must not have this one.”
~ * O * ~
I’m very pleased and honoured to present to you all my latest work, Pleasure and Pain now available for free download at my author’s page at Smashwords. I was beginning to think that this day would never come, it seemed to be such an involved story that just didn’t want to finish. I truly hope you enjoy the read as much as I did writing it.
Please follow the link to the book’s page at Smashwords.
Brandon’s grip was strong on my ribs, the tops of his thumbs brushing the swell of my breasts as he moved them up and down. Caressing my skin.
Can he feel my heart pounding beneath his palms? Shit, it’s going to bounce right out of my throat and tap-dance across the floor any minute now.
Breaking the kiss with one final suck of my bottom lip he stepped back, his blazing eyes sweeping hungrily over my breasts. His tongue flicked over his top lip as he gazed at me.
“Jesus, Rosebud. You’re tits are s-so fuckin’….Shit.” He shook his head, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, for the moment lost for words. “They’re freakin’ perfect,” he finally stammered as he moved his hands up those last few millimetres, letting out a low, pained groan as he gently cupped my breasts in his palms. It was almost as if he was cradling two fine Irish-made crystal orbs and I held my breath as I watched his face soften.
Those hands which I knew held the power to drop grown men with one punch, now held me as if I was the most precious thing in his life. It was mindblowing and I was so turned on watching him fall apart before me as he practically worshipped my chest.
My heart ratcheted up another five hundred notches as I began to pant, my lips parting widely to accommodate my rapid breaths.
Dropping to his knees he squeezed my breast and taking it into his mouth, he closed his lips around me, sucking as his tongue swept roughly, hungrily over my nipple. I groaned as he closed his teeth over the engorged bud, biting gently, his own moans vibrating against my aching flesh. His other hand clenched around my other breast, contracting, and releasing. Over and over and over as he suckled me, his groans of pleasure making me squirm and pulse.
He looked up at me through long lashes, his dark eyes flashing as I watched, bedazzled and utterly enthralled by him and what he was doing. The sensations he was wringing from my body with just his tongue and teeth were exquisite. Just on the right side of painful.
Dropping my hands onto his head I curled my fingers into his long hair, twisting the silken strands around them, holding him, pressing him closer to my breast. I didn’t want him to ever stop. I wanted to scream, as wild sensations tugged and pulled deep within my breasts, in turn making muscles deep inside my sex clench.
The suction on my breast and nipple was heady and my head swam with the whirlpool of emotions which threatened to have me screaming at the top of my lungs. It was at times uncomfortable when his teeth grazed my hypersensitive flesh with too much enthusiasm, but the feelings which razed through my body were so darkly addictive, so erotic, I would have done anything to keep his mouth on me.
I would have sold my soul to the very Devil had he come a-knocking right that very instant just to keep Brandon’s lips on my skin, his so very talented tongue working me and his deliciously sharp teeth scraping me, driving my nerves wild.
But he had other ideas and as his thumbs dropped from my breasts to the waistband of my panties, I realised very quickly what that was and I tugged his hair harder as desire raced unchecked through my heated blood.
♥ ♥ ♥
Photo © Konrad Bąk (konradbak)
Chapter Twelve. Brandon ♂
By the time that Mychael staggered in the door around 1:00 am that night, I’d had a chance to cool down, thanks to my time with Rosebud. Although, I did kick his arse as I’d promised, I didn’t give him the black eyes.
By Wednesday, my bike was repaired. I’d threatened him that morning before I’d left for work that ‘if he didn’t pick it up and return it back home in his lunchtime I’d fuckin’ knock his lights out.’ Over a couple of icy beers after work, I’d laughed, as he’d slouched forward on his chair whining that he’d had to fork out $500 for repairs, after he’d already splashed out $100 in Halycon the day before for a carton of smokes — to replace the ones he’d bludged off of me.
As it’d turned out, the damage to my bike wasn’t too bad, mostly superficial. He’d snapped the brake lever off, fucked up most of the bike’s plastics on the right-hand side, scratched the stickers off the front forks and simply flooded the bitch when he’d come a gutser.
No wonder the moll hadn’t wanted to fire-up, she’d had a gutful of fuel and he’d been too off his face to work it out.
Mychael, the whiney little bitch hadn’t stopped friggin’ squealing about his dearly departed $600 ever since. All fuckin’ week, he’d been on my case and I was just about ready to dish out another memorable arse-kicking, with added jaw-ache, when Friday morning rolled around.
Fuckin’ date day.
And I was nervous as all fuckin’ hell.
I’m very pleased to present to you all the interview I did with the very lovely Kieralee from An Aussie Girl’s Wild Book Addiction.
Originally posted on An Aussie Girl's WILD Book Addiction!:
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The Lake House
As my car curled around the last bend in the forest’s winding dirt track, the overhanging trees parted and the view before me spread out like a banquet for the eyes. I swallowed and my belly clenched as if a playful fist had reached in, grabbed it and gave it a little what-the-hell-yank.
“Beautiful,” I whispered, leery of disturbing the cathedral-like serenity which surrounded me.
The shiny black box mounted on my dash had no such qualms and spat out a sharp beep-beep. I was tempted to tell it to ‘shush’ and my lips pursed in anticipation of the word passing over them. Realising the stupidity of telling a machine anything, I swallowed my retort.
“In one point five kilometres turn left and continue driving for five hundred metres,” droned the stilted feminine robot who was the voice of my GPS.
“Oh my god. I had no idea how big it was going to be. It’s huge,” I marvelled, my voice tiny so I didn’t disturb the spell I now found myself under, ignoring the fact that my GPS was basically telling me to drive into the lake.
Without taking my eyes from the sight before me I reached over and switched it off. My eyes widened as I took in the massive circular expanse of blue water which stretched out as far as I could see. Bordering the edges of the lake — dam? — looked to be more of the untamed and uninhabited lush forest I’d been driving through for the past hour.
The scene reminded me of a Titan’s thickly-lashed blue-eye.
But, of course, I was still at least a good kilometre away so I could be mistaken about the isolated aura of the place.
Surely there were other houses, people around?
I couldn’t be the only one living here?
It couldn’t just be me?
A city girl about to live in the desolation of the country.
In the wild, my fear reminded me again. As if I hadn’t got the message the first time.
My right leg began to tremble, and of course, my bare foot then jerked in response. As the engine received irregular bursts of fuel with my foot’s erratic dance on the accelerator, I embarrassingly bunny-hopped along the road. Gritting my teeth I puffed out an exasperated sigh.
“What are you doing Geneviève?” Pushing in the clutch I knocked it back a gear, grimacing as I ground the gears. “Shit.”
I haven’t driven this badly since I first learned to drive a manual car 10 years ago at age 16. Sucking back a deep breath, I released it and curling my fingers around the fake leather wheel to stop them shaking, I glanced to the left of the lake and finally got my first glimpse of the house.
I shook my head softly as this revelation sunk in. It was stunning, and so what I wasn’t expecting to see. I suppose I’d had visions of a run-down shack. A spider, bat and rat infested pile of timber and corrugate. This sprawling vision before me was a godsend and I silently thanked my Guardian Angel for this blessing.
~ * O * ~
Living alone in the city and just scraping by on my job as a barista, didn’t allow me the luxury of a personal life. Let alone permit me to live the high life (or any life really) whilst I slowly added to my modest — actually truth be told, non-existent — savings. After my meagre living expenses were gobbled out of my wage, the dream of one day owning my own home, was just that – a dream. With a dedicated balance of $2.50 left in my account every Friday, (I was nothing if not consistent) something had to give and as beggars can’t be choosers, my social life and a boyfriend were the sacrificial victims.
So you could imagine my surprise the evening I’d come home from work, after a particularly crappy day, collected my mail and stood by the front door, heaving a heavy sigh as I’d blandly riffled through the usual windowed envelopes, colourful junk mail and a selection of Jesus is your Saviour pamphlets. My eyes landed on a jewel amongst the usual turds and pulling it out I stared down at the stiff creamy envelope, the name of a law firm I wasn’t familiar with, embossed in rich ebony in the top left corner.
With my heart hammering in my chest I placed the mail under my arm and shoving my key in the dodgy lock — which required a simultaneous turn of the key and a shoulder barge to open it — I walked inside. Pulling the door shut behind me I took my aching legs and impending headache through to my poky, but sunny kitchen.
With its huge picture window, this room had been the magnet which had drawn me to this flat. It faced west and without a build-up of high-rises behind me I got to witness the glory of each and every sunset. Unless, of course, I was pulling a spilt-shift, or working the bat-shift. Aka weirdo-shift or the 4:00 pm – 12:00 am.
I really hated doing that shift. It was scary, you never knew who was going to stagger in, red-eyed and short-tempered and demand variations of the menu which still made my head spin at some of their demands. Even after seven years of hearing them. Most of the other staff refused to take even a minute detour off the tried and true coffee-highway which was our menu, but I didn’t give a shit. If the customer had the money, I’d make the coffee. No skin off my nose.
I’d rapidly figured out this nifty, tip-swelling trick not long after I’d applied and got the job as a newly living-by-herself-sad-eyed-seventeen year old.
And now, at 24 years old, my life was heading nowhere.
At warp speed.
And with less tips now that a well-known coffee-house conglomerate had spread its legs and birthed countless baby coffee houses all over the country, including one shiny, modern, customer-stealing establishment a block down from us.
Scratching my forehead, I sighed and busied myself making a toasted sandwich and a pot of tea. Every now and then I found my eyes glancing over to the creamy envelope laying by itself on the marble counter-top.
What could it be? I wondered. Have I done something illegal that I’m unaware of? Unpaid fines? No, it couldn’t be that, I’ve never received any. My brows knitted as the tiny rectangle’s purpose in my life continued to cleverly evade me.
Curious, and now just a little nervous, I poured my tea and placing it on a tray with the letter and sandwich, my belly growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since morning tea. One stale finger bun that had been left over from the day before and a mug of white, sweet tea didn’t really go far. I never touched the coffee, preferring to drink tea, soft drinks or water.
I make coffee all day but I’ve never developed a taste for it. I know, it’s strange, but I’ve just never appreciated its bitter after-taste. Although, I do love the smell of the brewing coffee.
Taking my dinner and letter out to my tiny sitting room I sank down into my comfy beanbag, placed the tray at my side and carefully opened the luxurious envelope. My eyes skimmed over the spidery scripted address at the top, only seeing the part in which I’d been informed that I’d been left my aunt and uncle’s lake house.
Claytons Top Legal.
15 Main Road.
Phone : 266 59987
Dear Ms Coulton,
RE: ESTATE OF THE LATE GEORGE AND MAYA RANDOLPH
We have been instructed to act in the administration of the estate on behalf of the family of the late Mr and Mrs Randolph. We offer our sincerest condolences to you on the passing of your late Aunt and Uncle.
Per their instructions left with this law firm, I wish to inform you that you have been named as a beneficiary in their will dated 11th of March, 2000. Mr and Mrs Randolph had also made their wish for you to be the sole inheritor of one (1) home located at Crystal Waves Lake.
Crystal Waves Lake. Claytons Top. Those names were familiar in a have-I-or-haven’t-I been-there, dream-like way, and I stopped reading as the implications of the lawyer’s words sank in. My own house, free of rent and the demands of landlords.
Placing the letter down in my lap I gazed out through the window my eyes settling on the sky as evening prepared to sweep the remnants of today before it. Vivid rays of peach, hot pink and mauve exploded from the horizon, painting my small room with delicious flickering strokes of colour.
But I didn’t see the sky gradually darken as the lightshow faded, ushering in a million twinkling stars. The room darkened around my sagging form as in my mind I was a child of five — or maybe younger — once again. I smiled as I saw forgotten stuttering frames of me as a little girl on holidays.
Bright yellow floaties decorated with laughing cartoon characters ringed my chubby biceps. Their air-filled exteriors held my little girl arms straight out, floating atop the surface like a scarecrow as I paddled in an azure lake, surrounded by the splashing, boisterous water play of my Randolph cousins.
I hadn’t thought of them for years.
My father and his eldest, and only sister, had had a falling out over something I’d never been privy to. And, neither had spoken, on the phone or face to face, for as long as I could remember.
Sadly, I didn’t even remember my aunt and uncle anymore or the lake or their home. All of their faces had grown hazy, soft around the edges, as I’d passed from girlhood, through to teen. Until finally becoming invisible and ancient history when I’d reached adulthood.
I shook my head and took a sip of my tea. My sandwich grew cold as it sat on the plate untouched. My appetite lost. I hadn’t been aware that they’d passed on. That’s so sad, I realised. Not one of my cousins had contacted me, not that they’d have known where to find me and not that I’d expected them to.
Why would they? I was as much a stranger to them as they were to me.
My parents had both died in a bus accident whilst on holidays to South America when I’d turned seventeen and they’d been all the family I’d had. So, technically I was kinda used to being on my own and hearing from long-lost relatives would have shocked me to the core.
With a heavy sigh, I rose and switched on the lamp before returning to my seat, and the rest of the letter.
If you would be so kind, would you please present to our offices at the address shown above at your earliest convenience, so that we may commence with the signing of all of the property’s necessary paper work.
CLAYTON TOPS LEGAL
~ * O * ~