“You drive me beyond crazy. Do you know this?”
Lucifer to Annabelle, from ‘Sins of Oz’, sequel to ‘The Devil of Oz’.
***These teasers are generally a first draft. I tend to re-read and change them a little. I just wanted you to know that what you read here, will be maybe not quite the finished product. But, I suppose you get the general idea. Hope you’re all enjoying the teasers so far. Cheers, Jen. ***
Jesus H Christ, he was so monumentally wasted.
“Fuck it,” he mumbled raising his hand and skolling his drink before slamming the tumbler down, his fingers still wrapped tightly around its chunky twinkling girth. Holding back a cough and wincing at the burn in his throat, he rubbed his chest with the free hand that seemed to belong to someone else as he cast his blurry gaze around the bar.
Lit by recessed lights over the bar, flickering candle-lit lamps on the tables and strobe-light-like fairy lights artfully wound around the exposed wooden ceiling beams like twinkling pythons, the bar was a perfect example of a tourists’ drinking hole.
Or a romantic honeymooners’ snuggle spot.
Chris gave a bubbly ‘Pfft’ through numb lips and looked out into the darkness beyond the chatter and clink of glasses.
With the transparent plastic drapes rolled up, the bar was open on three sides to the night. Chrome hand-railings and wooden steps in the top corners led down to the beach. He’d nearly gone down there earlier when he’d first strolled in after Cass had strutted back to the room with the shits, but had soon changed his mind with the help of Mr Bourbon.
She’d told him she felt sick. What a load of bullshit! He knew better. She’d had the shits.
Good and fucking proper.
“Not my fault she got uptight because I pulled her into gear. She shouldn’t have encouraged that clown.”
Curious as to the time, but with no intention of calling it a night yet, he checked his watch, his eyes unfocused. His body swaying like a metronome set on slow.
1:00 am. No, fuck it. 2:00am.
He blinked once. Twice. Thrice. “What the fuck ever,” he grunted, his pickled brain unable to comprehend what the hands on his watch were telling him. “She’d be asleep by now anyway, so I may as well stay a bit longer. At least someone’s gonna be havin’ some fuckin’ fun tonight,” he surmised, licking his lips, tasting the sweetness of the liquor on his tongue. Suddenly thirsty again.
Like all the other patrons, he was stuffed behind a small round table, his arse planted on a plush, black wraparound leather lounge. The whole set-up was very cubby-like. Each table setting discreetly snuggled into dimly lit alcoves, like those shrines nestled into the steep sides of dangerous mountain roads, the crosses draped with flowers and heartbroken messages of loss and sadness.
He shook the morbid comparison out of his head as he studied the immediate area around him, his point of view blurry and totally skewed by the liberal amount of Bourbon diluting his blood.
Actually, my blood has probably turned into pure Bourbon by now.
He laughed at the thought, the rumbling sound cold and without a lick of humour.
Each table and seating, his included, were separated from their neighbours by tall planters stuffed with….
Chris squinted and sticking his tongue out he licked his top lip as he studied the busy-shit poking out of the top of the privacy dividers on either side of him. “Yeah, right. My first opinion’s not been changed with the magic of alcohol,” he decided as he sneered at the shitty décor.
Fluffy poofy-looking ferns battled for supremacy with squat alien looking tropical palms which he was sure were meant to be romantic. But Chris knew enough about bars, and their clientele, to know that they didn’t linger here for the fucking gardens, the seizure-inducing lights, or the crashing sounds of the ocean.
A quick, guilt-free fuck.
That was the name of the seductive game that was being played here and in every bar on a nightly basis.
“Ha-fuckin’-hardy-ha, not when you’re married though, “Chris mumbled sarcastically as if he’d just remembered the punch line to a particularly shitty joke. “No fun then.”
Shifting on his seat, he barely registered the pain in his kneecap as he smashed it into the metal frame beneath the table. The distracting sounds of sex from the table next door had reached him. Moans and long drawn-out groans.
“No wonder this joint’s called Liquid Indiscretion,” He eyeballed his cigarettes on the table, his mouth watering as the urge to light one up gripped him. Movement at the bar caught his eye, and momentarily forgetting his smokes, he watched, feeling himself growing warmer. Harder.
The lucky fucker had his hand up the redhead’s dress and she was laughing, her hand tracing up and down his bare arm.
Chris knew where that shit was headed and the muscles of his gut clenched as the sharp claws of lust grabbed him in a death-grip as he watched.
“Oh yeah. This is the place to come to get pissed and fucked at the same time.”
Reaching down, he idly stroked himself through his old jeans as he stared at them, his cock beginning to tango with his touch and the show at the bar which was showing no signs of slowing down. If anything it had heated up.
Oh fuck. He needed to get laid and it didn’t look like he’d be getting any tonight. Not after that stuff-up earlier at dinner with that dumb pissed-cunt flirting with Cass and her….
His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as he recalled her warm smile. Her beautiful smile, which for the first time was not directed at him, but at some other arsehole.
A fucking stranger.
Oh yeah, she’d tried to back-peddle, telling him that she was just being polite.
Pleading with him with those stunning eyes not to spoil their lovely night.
He growled, his hand squeezing his empty glass tighter.
“Polite, my fucking arse.”
With his vision swimming and beginning to haze red, he looked down at the near empty bottle and the glass clenched between his white fingers, a crooked smile tipping the corner of his lips up as they multiplied. Sagging backwards against the soft leather, his legs spread wide. As his head lolled heavily to the side, he burped and hot Bourbon flooded his mouth. Grimacing, he swallowed.
His fucking table reminded him of that scene from the Disney movie he’d loved as a kid, the one with the dumb-arse mouse in the pointed hat and cloak and the magical-breeding-brooms.
But, instead of brooms and buckets multiplying, he had a fucking trio of bottles and a shit-load of glasses.
Dark brows furrowed in concentration, he struggled to remember. Not caring about the problem of how he’d managed to drink his way through three bottles, instead of the one, which he remembered buying, and which the last sober colony of brain cells were telling him he’d done.
“Shut the hell up,” he slapped his forehead in warning to the part of his brain which was still thinking clearly and attempting to reason with him. Force him to bed. Back to Cass. “I’ll go to bed when I’m good and fuckin’ ready, now what the frig was that movie called?”
He leaned forward and reached for one of the bottles, laughing when he felt cool glass beneath his palm.
Pouring himself another drink he stared dumbly as the golden liquid missed the glass and pissed all over the table. “Fucking hell, wrong glass,” he slurred, his lips felt like they’d fallen off and his tongue flopped around in his mouth like a landed fish.
Dropping his head back against the lounge he closed his eyes.
“I’m so fucking tired,” he slurred.
“What’s your name gorgeous?” Purred a sultry voice in his ear. He exhaled as wet lips brushed his lobe. “I’ve been watching you all night,” that sexy voice added.
“Uh?” he grunted. Confused and lost, he jerked upright from where he’d been slouched against the comfortable lounge resting his head on the back and gazing up at the rotating ceiling fan through his eyelids. He rubbed his hands over his face, his stubble grazing his palm and let out a long sigh. The bar, that’s where I am.
“May I?” The voice asked and struggling to get his brain into gear to answer her, she took the decision from him, eagerly snuggling up against him. Thigh to thigh.
Before Chris could command his body to react somehow — maybe move away? — warm hands landed on his upper leg and lower stomach, the fingers splaying out just above his jean’s waistband. His thigh tensed beneath her touch, and as her fingernails traced a delicious path from hip to hip over his shirt, his head fell back, his mind lost in the haze of lust and liquor. Moaning softly through parted lips, the muscles in his gut flexed and softened at her siren’s touch.
Despite the alcohol firing through his veins like rocket-fuel, and the realisation that he was screaming down shit highway, in an out-of-control car with no brakes if he stayed… his fucking dick twitched.
Over the subtle sounds of jazz being piped from hidden speakers — probably disguised as fucking rocks or tourists or something, he thought, his head gauzy, his thoughts slow and lazy like sunbaking seals, he heard her quick breaths in his ear.
He squirmed beneath her touch.
Jesus, he was getting so horny.
Behind him the ocean roared as the waves crashed heavily onto the night sands. The air was warm, just a hint of briny breeze blowing in from the sea. And perfume. The sexy smell of a woman’s arousal.
And it wasn’t Cass’s either.
He groaned. He was in deep, deep shit. Why did his little head always overrule and make all the decisions for his big head? One of these days, if he wasn’t careful, Cass was gonna find out. And he couldn’t risk that. Couldn’t risk her leaving him.
Ever. She was his. She wore his ring and was branded with his name, and to Chris, that was as good as a tattoo on her forehead proclaiming his ownership.
Not that drunk fuck’s from dinner earlier. Not some random dickhead who couldn’t take his eyes off of her. And especially not that queer cunt, Jeremy fuckin’- get-any-girl-Hoffman. Chris knew deep in his heart, that Jeremy was the only one who’d ever have a chance in hell of stealing Cass from him.
Chris snarled as he thought back on the night of their wedding reception and how that prick had had the fucking balls to show up with a card and gift for Cass.
“Arrogant bastard,” he growled.
“Who?” Octopussy crooned as her hand slid up under his shirt, her fingers lightly tracing the muscles of his abs, tickling the snaking trail of hair on his gut. She traced it down under his waistband and stroked along the edge of his briefs, her fingertip slipping beneath to stroke the top of his dick.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, his body quivering with a rush of goose-bumps as her nail scored the sensitive skin over the top of his cock.
He shifted his arse forward on the seat ignoring her question, squashing her hand in his jeans. Not that she seemed to mind judging by the sparkle in her dilated eyes and her parted wet lips.
Leaning over until his nose was stuck in her generous cleavage, his face brushed the swell of her large breasts as he plunged his hand into his jean’s front pocket; which was a battle in itself, considering his hard-on combined with her questing fingers was now testing his jean’s stretching capabilities.
“Go and get me a beer love,” he slurred, dragging a tenner out of the front pocket of his jeans, sitting back up and handing it to her.
She pouted and pulled her hand from out of his jeans. “What’s your name? Mine’s Tianna by the way.” As she slid from the booth she turned to him and leaning back until her tits were near swinging free she crooned, “What sort of beer d’ya want?”
“Don’t care. Get me anything,” he said in dismissal, watching her lush curves sashay over to the bar. When the three buxom figures joined into one, he licked his lips as he noticed how the tight scrap of material she was wearing looked like it was threatening to explode and give everyone the highlight of their evening.
He turned his attentions to the view of the now making-out couple who’d moved from the bar, to the cosy nook opposite his. I wonder if they’re married, he thought idly. He knew his views on marriage were barbaric, probably bordering on Neanderthal and that most women would gladly castrate him if they knew. Chris was pretty sure that Cassy’s bestie, that hot little blonde slut Selma, would lead the Amazonian-charge armed with only a sharpened nail file, her teeth or even a Spork.
He barked out a sharp laugh. “Whateverthefuck they are.”
There’d been some in a cutlery set they’d received as a wedding gift, and Chris still had no idea what the hell purpose they served. Maybe they were used to clean the baked-on turds off the sides of the shitter? Clean out blocked drains? Throw at the neighbour’s dogs when they wouldn’t shut the fuck up?
He emptied the last of the bottle into his glass and swallowed a mouthful as he briefly considered the mystery of the good-for-fucking-nothing-spork, one of mans’ greatest inventions no doubt, right up there with bidets and talking dunnies. With a salute to useless shit, he upended his glass, the remains of the Bourbon sliding down his throat like mango flavoured ice-cream on a summer’s day.
Sucking back a breath back through gritted teeth, he exhaled noisily.
Christ on a fucking cracker. He was lucky that Cass had no idea of his opinion. But even if she did, tough shit. He was the man and she was his wife. And by fuck, she’d toe the line. Or else.
With my ipod’s ear-buds jammed into my ears and lost in my own thoughts, I hadn’t realised we’d come to our destination until the seatbelt snap-locked against my chest and my head jerked forward. I simultaneously released an unladylike grunt, rapidly followed by a string of imaginative curses under my breath.
All of which related to my brother, Matty’s ratbag driving, and the fact that he must have fished his licence from the cereal box this morning.
“Shit! For God’s sake Matt, you’ve just given me whiplash,” his girlfriend, Maryanne, screeched from the front seat, loud enough to be heard over my music.
I turned it off, but left the ear-plugs in.
“We’re here,” Matty announced chirpily, ignoring the very vocal sounds of our displeasure.
Brothers, I stewed internally. More like annoying bastard.
My brows shot up as I took note of our location and ripping out the ear-buds I scrunched them up, shoving the lot into my bag.
“Oh really guys? Matty? I mean…here? This place?” I scoffed, the seat-belt fiasco and poor driving forgotten as I stared out through the Navara’s smeary side window on my left.
We were parked outside of our small town, Mistyhead’s, most notorious and not to mention, supposedly most haunted landmark.
Throwing my hands palms up, I tossed the backs of everyone’s heads a ‘what the hell?’ look. Beside me, my boyfriend Jace chuckled as he elbowed me.
“Well this should be a fucking blast. Although personally, I don’t reckon’ you’ll last one hour, let alone all night Charm.”
He got an extra hard serving of death-stare.
“Just sayin’ is all,” he said smugly, scuffing his palm backwards and forwards over his buzzed head as his warm whiskey-coloured eyes sparkled with mischief.
Biting back a retort as to what he could do with his thoughts, I crossed my arms over my chest and turned away, but he pointedly ignored my deadly-girlfriend-laser-beam-eyes and continued, “You’re not gonna chicken out now are you babe? You were the one who —”
I heaved a theatrical sigh, interrupting him before he ended up with two of my fingers jammed into his gorgeous eyes, “I’m well aware of what I agreed to, thank you very much.” Resting my head against the vehicle’s window, I gazed out at the old house all the while hoping my forehead didn’t come away covered in whatever gunk was smeared all over the glass.
My brother believed that a filthy car was the sign of a ‘real man.’ He’d told me that, “A real man doesn’t have time to poof up his car when he has all sorts of manly things to do with his time.”
Well, I figured, screwing my nose up as I wiped my forehead on my arm, Matty must practically be an advanced species of homo-sapiens, if the state of his vehicle was an indicator of his rugged masculinity.
Having lived my whole 20 years in Mistyhead, I’d heard all of the stories that Heavenly Fields — the house’s original name — had generated over the years until they were now that ingrained in the town’s psyche they’d require the services of a very skilled surgeon to extricate.
I’d listened to, and then just as quickly, disregarded the stories of the mysterious dancing lights seen after dark, the sad pallid faces occasionally pressed to the upstairs windows and the glimpses of shadowy forms drifting through the silent rooms.
I undid my seat-belt and shifting my weight to the side, the seat squeaked as I plunged my hand into my jean’s front pocket, pulling out a packet of chewy. Popping two pieces into my mouth I cast my mind back, remembering why we were here: Mine and Matty’s idiotic argument two weeks ago at the pub over the supposed existence of ghosts — he believed and I didn’t.
Anyway to cut a long story short, we’d subsequently decided that a bet would be in order, with Matty making the rules — of-freaking-course. Apparently being an older sibling, and male, entitled him to the rule making. Or so he’d informed me in his ‘take-no-prisoners-voice’ as he’d simultaneously slapped his hands down on the wobbly table, upsetting our drinks and causing the frothy beer to cascade in a bubbling brown waterfall over the table’s edge and straight into the depths of my open handbag.
Drowning my fake Chanel wallet and mobile in the resulting sticky pool.
(To this day my phone acts like a poltergeist lives in it and my bag still smells like a brewery, even after I’d shoved it into the washing machine and laundered it to within an inch of its life. Three times! I had to toss my wallet to the shithouse. Lucky it was cheap!)
At the time I’d been so cranky at his one-sided Neanderthal me-man-me-make-rules mentality, and the ruination of my bag I’d reacted without thinking.
As you do.
Instead of just arguing the point with him, I’d snapped and gone all primal, screeching that he’d ruined my bag and he was sure as hell gonna be buying me a new one.
And not from a cheap chain store either. I wanted one with a fancy name and even fancier price tag. One from a bag-only boutique.
And then in front of our friends — hell in front of the whole pub’s patrons — I’d grabbed a hearty chunk of his thick shoulder length hair and yanked.
Hard enough to tug him towards me.
I cringed down in the car seat, chewing furiously on my gum, as I recalled his reaction.
Matty’s eyes had widened, then narrowed, his pupils pinpointing as he’d glared at me. I should’ve known that I’d gone way too far when his face had gone a frightening shade of ballistic-capsicum-red. He was glowing like a nuclear Christmas tree light, and I’m positive he would’ve been visible from space, he was that fucking cranky.
In hindsight, I really should’ve just called it a day and just stopped at the screaming part, totally leaving his hair out of the argument, but I’d never been one for thinking ahead. Or rationally.
With me, it was act now, repent later.
But like all good and cunning brothers and unbeknown to me, he’d ignored me after that and in reflection, I now knew that he’d simply been biding his time. Like a patient snake. Or a crocodile.
After a few more hours, and a couple more drinks, I’d relaxed, thinking I’d got away with the whole yowling, hair-yanking incident and foolishly let my guard down. Only to have the evening end with my darling brother driving off — with a carload of drunken friends and one passed-out boyfriend — when I was in the ladies room, unaware and none the wiser, leaving me to walk
home alone from the pub.
Now, normally I wouldn’t mind.
On a sunny, warm day.
With sneakers on, and absolutely not sexy and totally ridiculous three inch heels.
The distance from our local watering hole, The King’s Head to home, on a good day would normally take me fifteen minutes to drive. But, with quite a few glasses of beer and wine under my belt, on foot — my feet shod in the impractical heels — and in the pouring rain, well let’s just say that it was a journey which had ultimately taken me ninety sodden, miserable minutes.
And which I sincerely hope to never, ever repeat.
The terms of our bet was that I had to spend the night in a haunted place of Matty’s choosing and if I succeeded in not crapping my pants and running off squealing like a little girl, he’d accept that ghoulies didn’t exist and not only apologise, but buy me a box of chocolates every month for a year.
One. Whole. Year.
Now, that was a bet I couldn’t and wouldn’t turn down.
But, and there’s always one of those isn’t there? If I didn’t stay the full night, I had to wash his car for a year and do his laundry and washing up.
I swallowed back the bitter taste of distaste which flooded my mouth, and, shuddering with horror I imagined handling his gross undies, stinky socks and smelly, sweaty clothes. Pushing the chewing gum around my mouth with my tongue, I chomped down extra hard, only to miss the chewy, biting a chunk out of my tongue instead.
“Fuck!” I howled, and feeling stupid I waved my hand in the air as Matty, Maryanne and Jace all swivelled in their seats to stare at me. My brows shot up as they gawked at me, and feeling an explanation was in order I poked my tongue out, waggling it like a worm on a hook showing off my oral-self-amputation. “I bif my fongue,” I dribbled, my throbbing tongue flopping around like a landed fish.
I turned away and narrowing my eyes I studied the old house, my lodgings for the night. Now that I really looked, I noticed that it had a slight lean to it. The whole structure kind of lurched to the side; a little like a drunk catching their boot in a pot-hole, thrown off balance and snap-frozen into position.
I’d driven past this place a thousand times on my way to work and I’d never given it much eye-time, apart from a quick muttered, what a frigging eyesore-type comment. But, on every occasion, I’d never seen diddly-squat. Not even an inkling of anything supernatural.
No sad pale faces, no sparkling lights, certainly no floating dead people.
It was, just what it was: A deserted, decaying, falling down, and neglected blemish on this street. Nothing more, nothing less. The kindest thing to do to this house, I thought, would be to bulldoze it and start afresh.
“Couldn’t you have come up with anything more original than the old ‘spend the night in the ‘creepy-Heavenly-Fields’ house challenge? What are we, bloody ten years old?” I whined, my voice rising on my last few words as my fingers formed air-quotes around creepy Heavenly Fields. “You could have made me…I dunno…eat worms as I sat in the cemetery admiring the twilight or something.”
“Yeah right! With your appetite you’d have enjoyed that challenge. And if that’s not a fuckin’ kid’s dare, I dunno what the fuck is,” Matty snorted getting out of the vehicle, quickly followed by me, a laughing Jace and an unusually quiet Maryanne.
Slamming Matty’s precious man-wagon’s door hard enough for him to yell at me, I stomped across the grass verge and onto the cracked footpath.
Matty jogged around the front of the car and wrapping an arm around Maryanne’s waist he looked from me to the house. Planting my hands on my hips my sneakers scuffed the dirty cement as I swivelled, giving him the special-little-sister-look, the one that screamed, ‘watch it buddy.’
He must have caught the death daggers in my eyes, because the corner of his lip tilted up in a wry smile before he shrugged and looked away.
Jace’s arms snaked around me from behind. Pulling me back against his firm body, I felt his lips brush against my hair before the hard point of his chin came to rest on my head.
From my vantage point, snugly ensconced in my boyfriend’s embrace, I studied the house. Taking in its silent sagging façade, my eyes scanned from side to side noticing the flaking paint, cracked panes of glass and overgrown yard.
I shivered as a shard of ice formed down low in my belly.
Shifting my stance from foot to foot, Jace tightened his grip on me and instinctively I curled my fingers over his forearms, feeling the muscles harden and roll beneath my hands.
A soft humming noise rumbled from the back of my throat and my scalp prickled as I raised my eyes, catching a shadow drifting by the top window.
From out of nowhere, a breeze picked up. I heard its sorrowful cry as it danced through the gumtrees and sent dead leaves spiralling across the pathway and onto the road. In the yard of Heavenly Fields, I watched the knee high weeds sway from side to side, almost as if they were waving at us.
Jesus, this place is creepy, I realised belatedly.
Hello Charmaine, a voice whispered through my mind, the sound like rustling leaves. Come on in. Join us.
My body stiffened and even though I tried to take a step back towards the relative safety of Matty’s grotty car, I couldn’t move. My feet felt nailed down. I couldn’t have shifted from this spot even if I’d wanted to. And shit, I wanted to. Very badly.
But, somehow, I was frozen in place. My unblinking eyes glued to that human-like shadow in the window.
Why can’t anyone else see it?
My mouth dried up as deep, dark fear traced its bony fingers up and down my spine and I shivered.
Jace pulled me in tighter against his body, his breath tickling the side of my face as he leaned in. “Cold babe?” he asked softly, mistaking my quiver for feeling chilly, totally unaware of the fear running rampant through my body. “You’ll be sweet once you get out of the wind.”
As I stared up at the occupied window, I murmured in a shaky voice, “Somehow I don’t think so.” But, it was too late to pull out of this silly bet. And I’d never hear the end of it if I did.
Taking a deep breath and releasing it in a long puff I spun around. Wrapping my arms around Jace’s neck I kissed him, not even caring that my brother was standing there making gagging noises, when his hands dropped to my arse and fondled it through my jeans.
“I’d better go,” I squeaked before clearing my throat. “You’ll be back to get me in the morning won’t you?”
Jace smiled. “Of course, I’m not that much of a prick that I’d forget my own fucking girlfriend.”
I raised a brow, not mentioning that he’d already done that; the night the stupid bet had been made. Fair enough, he’d been paralytic and then passed out. But still, technically he’d forgotten me.
“Just don’t get that wasted tonight that you forget me,” I warned him. “Like the last time,” I added cattily under my breath.
Shooting one last glare at Matty, who just winked at me, I squared my shoulders and walked up the pathway and swallowing I stepped onto the warped and faded verandah.
“Okay, that wasn’t too bad, now the hard part,” I groaned, as my hand reached for the tarnished door-knob. The sounds of voices, and car doors slamming, barely registering in my head. I shivered again as the wind wrapped around me. The house creaked and groaned as if in pain and I winced. It sounded like a wounded animal.
I wiped my hands down my denim-clad thighs. “Get a grip you stupid bitch. Houses don’t howl, cry or moan,” I grumbled in an attempt to pacify the terrified little girl that was stomping her feet and dropping her quivering lip at her grown-up self’s stupidity at going through with this idea. I really wanted to give into my inner-child’s insistence that I leave. But nobody wants to be called a ‘fucking-wuss’ or a ‘gutless wonder’ and have to clean-up after their grungy brother for an eternity because of a few little icy shivers and a big, fat, nasty feeling of foreboding.
So as the car peeled away from the kerb with a squeal of tyres, I studied the way my fingers curled around the handle, my teeth furiously chewing my bottom lip.
Filling my cheeks up with air I blew it out and mentally counting to five I turned the knob. Just as I went to push the door open, it swung wide and I cried out as I fell forward, unceremoniously face-planting the dusty floor.
Image used under licence with Stockfresh.
Old abandoned house with flying ghosts stock photo © Sandra Cunningham (Sandralise)
I mewled and my breath sped up as the sweet pain of his sharp teeth in my flesh raced through my body, raising the hairs and making my hips instinctively rock forward. Grinding on him like he was my very own personal pole.
“Oh yeah baby, do it.” Panting, he pushed his pelvis into me, his hips twisting from side to side. I swear my panties combusted it was so hot. He was every naughty dream I’d ever had all wrapped up in a hard, hot, silky mass of trembling muscles.
“D’ya want this?” Chris whispered against my throat, his tongue sweeping hot wet laps up and then along my jawline as he worked himself against me.
His hands slid up my back, greedily diving into my hair. Wrapping the thick strands around his fingers he fisted his hands and tugged my head backwards, exposing my neck to him like a gazelle’s throat to a lion.
It was hot.
It was fucking erotic.
And I was not above begging at this point.
* * *
Photo courtesy of Stockfresh.
Romantic Kiss On Throat stock photo © Piotr Stryjewski (stryjek)
My chest was heaving as I circled him, watching carefully, waiting for him to slip up. The cocky smartarse ones always did, and when that happened I’d be fuckin’ right onto him.
“I thought ya had some go in ya. Ya do know that I’m gonna smash those poofy-pretty-boy looks so I hope ya sexy little bit of arse…’ he looked right at Rosebud and laughed, low and menacing, “…likes her fucks ugly, ‘cause that’s how ya gonna be when I’m finished rearranging ya face.”
His lips twisted into a cunning smile at the fury that I knew was painted all over my face.
“Maybe I’ll take her home with me.” His eyes flashed behind me and I wanted to tear his throat out. “The jealous kind are we? Oh, man this is gonna be so fuckin’ easy. A walk in the daisies,” he sneered before spitting at my feet.
The crowd bellowed and raged.
“Fight. Fight. Fight,” they chanted.
“Shut ya fuckin’ mouth cunt,” I growled and there it was, my opportunity.
I smiled tightly as he glanced away from me to the crowd. With my heart pounding I landed a spinning heel kick, savagely slamming the heel of my combat boot deep into the muscle of his dodgy thigh.
His mouth screwed up and he tensed, stumbling backwards, his arms windmilling as he struggled to hold his balance and stay on his feet.
He bounced off the reaching arms of the crowd who pushed him back into the circle, and with satisfaction I saw his dark scowl turn the creases of his face into deep trenches. Never taking his eyes off me he grabbed at his leg, a flash of pain flitting briefly across his face.
“Nice one pretty-boy. I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ya now, so any last words?” he roared.
I grinned and curled my fingers at him, all the while bouncing up and down and side to side on the balls of my feet.
“You can try motherfucker, but I don’t like ya chances,” I told him, as we circled each other exchanging test blows, checking each other’s strength. I clenched my jaw, concentrating on the subtle nuances of his body language as our fists pinged and bounced as they made contact. My pulse raced and my mouth dried up as I noticed he was now obviously favouring his damaged leg.
*** PLEASURE AND PAIN available now from Smashwords:
Chris lit up a cigarette and smoked contentedly as we walked hand in hand to our car. As I twisted at the waist to give a wave, the outdoor floodlights flashed on and Chris froze at my side. His fingers released mine and I felt his body turn to stone beside me.
“Jesus. What. The. Fuck?” Chris spat under his breath, as he copped a look at the other love of his life, his gleaming midnight black SS Commodore.
“What? What’s wrong?” I squeaked out, my voice high, panicked, before whipping my head back around. “Uh?” I mumbled stupidly, my mouth drying up as I raked my gaze over what was this morning a perfectly normal looking vehicle. Now, it just looked like a demonic-brothel-wagon; complete with a larger-than-life-plastic-porno-figurehead.
* * *
Taking a long drag on his cigarette he blew it out noisily as his head jerked to the side like he was possessed. “What’s that fuckin’ shit all down the side of the duco?” He yelled as his other hand waved furiously from side to side as if he was conducting an orchestra instead of coming perilously close to losing his shit.
I released a drawn-out sigh and my eyes widened. Blinking, I studied this new offensive area in detail, seeing the drunken, swirling curls of pink shaving foam which stood out like someone had projectile vomited fairy-floss; while running from one end to the other.
As if he could read my heated thoughts, Chris made his way over to me and leaned in, his cool fingers deliberately caressing the delicate skin on the column of my neck and nape as he swept my hair back over my shoulder. He placed his mouth over my ear and I shivered as my over-sensitised skin erupted in a minefield of gooseflesh.
“When we get to our hotel I’m gonna go down on you and make you come so hard you’ll forget your own name, and then you know what I’m gonna do?” He questioned in a harsh, raspy voice before allowing his hot, wet tongue to lightly trace the outer rim of my ear as if it was the heated folds of my sex, perfectly demonstrating his meaning with vivid clarity.
Shit! Omigod. Do. Not. Jump his bones here Cassy, I ordered myself.
I squirmed on the spot, painfully aware of how many sets of curious eyes were trained on us. Plus I couldn’t fail to see the crooked smirks, slow winks, weird hand gestures and grinding pelvis movements, courtesy of Chris’s groomsmen, aka: the four-pissed-harbingers-of-uncouthness; Damian, Luke, Mark and Tony.
I looked down, shaking my head. Thank god Nanna Green had had three small glasses of bubbly and two scotches and had been asleep in Aunty Pamela’s guest bedroom for four hours now. I just knew that she would’ve ended up with carpal tunnel syndrome from over-slapping their stupid heads.
Listening to Chris’s sex-soaked voice crooning in my ear had me already half-way to an orgasm. I would go off like a roman candle as soon as he touched me, after he’d practically fucked my ear with his tongue. Light-headed with lust, I was simply incapable of speech and found myself nodding no mutely in answer to his question, my mouth opening to accommodate my accelerated breathing at the sound of his dirty whispered promises.
He chuckled. The rich deep sound vibrated through every cell and nerve ending in my body and licking my lips I squeezed the muscles deep inside my sex, swallowing the moan, as tingles raced up through my pelvis.
“I’ll tell you my beautiful ocean-eyed goddess.” He gave my earlobe another sensual lick and blew a gentle breath on the wet skin. I closed my eyes and bright dancing lights flashed behind my lids as he continued, “I’m gonna bury my cock in you so deep and I’m never gonna come up for air and I can’t fuckin’ wait,” Chris’s dark voice whispered in my ear, tearing me out of my erotic fantasies. His hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin on the shell of my ear made my fucking toes curl in my bridal shoes.
***Thanks everyone for reading my work and for your continued support of this story. Every time I’ve posted up teasers I’ve been humbled by how many reads they get…so thank you. It means a lot to me (and my characters) – Jen :-) ***
Hi there everyone. I’m sorry I haven’t got any new material yet to share with you all. I’ve been a tad under the weather and feeling rather sorry for myself for a couple of weeks — as you do ;-) — and my creative bug went walkabout.
But, as I’m feeling rather perky again, I thought I’d do something a little different for my post tonight — it’s actually just after 9.30 pm here in Australia as I write this. I thought I’d share one of my favourite things with you. Well actually it’s two, but these two kinda melded together once, so for all intents and purposes they’re one.
Okay, before I started writing pretty much all the time, I was a mad keen gamer. And, my all-time favourite game is Tomb Raider. (A useless fact about me, my Facebook cover picture is from Tomb Raider, as is my laptop desktop picture….
*whistling and looking up*
I’m quite the tragic T.R fan actually, I have versions of this game for three different gaming platforms and all have at times driven me to distraction. I’ve yelled, silently cursed and swore at Lara for killing herself at the most inopportune moments.
I’ve wanted to rip out chunks of my hair — and Lara’s as well, I won’t lie — for pulling some of the dumbest moves in the history-of-preventing-one’s-own-death through means usually involving great heights, wild animal attacks and let’s not forget that brutal T.Rex encounter from Tomb Raider Anniversary!
Oh, and how can I forget to mention all the pits you must leap/hop/swing/climb/jump across that are filled with inhumanely sharpened stakes that would bring Dracula to his knees weeping like a little girl? Not forgetting that the jumps cover ground that even an egotistical Kangaroo on steroids would balk at.
I mean? Really?
I can’t count how many times I’ve attempted to jump her across chasms that were clearly not meant to be breached. By anything! Except maybe one of those squeaking, biting bats that somehow seem to lurk in the shadows and delight in attacking at the most awkward moments…such as when you’re attempting a wall run, swinging a gazillion feet above the ground by a grapple hook. And then — holy crap — what puts the icing on these particular cakes is that you must usually jump blindly backwards with the aid of a camera angle which wickedly and cunningly leaves no room for error!
Because. You. Can’t. See. A. Freaking. Thing!
Talk about a racing heart, sweaty palms and the red-tint-of-rage glossing over your vision! The amount of times I’ve watched Lara plunge to another bone-crunching death while I’ve sat there stupidly, mouth agape and near frothing with rage, my controller clenched tightly between my cramping fingers, knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do.
Buuuut, then…on the other side of the gaming-coin, nothing beats the great satisfaction — and the glow of gloating to a silent, empty room, with its invisible spectators — when after playing for hours filled with rage-inducing frustration that magic moment finally occurs….
YES! OH GREAT GOD OF GAMING. YES!
Lara finally gets her shapely arse into gear and effortlessly completes some crazy-arse long, long, long jump, that you’ve near swallowed your tongue — or bit it off — trying to get her to do. Any other time, you could bet your freaking sanity that with one false move this jump would usually result in her plunging into some bottomless abyss. Screaming all the while.
But, when the planets align in gaming world, all is well.
All is fan-bloody-tastic!
Now, as to my other passion I mentioned…well that would be KORN. As those of you who’ve read PLEASURE AND PAIN would know, they are also Brandon McAllister’s favourite band as well.
*frowning* That man has damn good taste, that’s all I can say!
Anyway, as you can see from the You Tube link that I’ve posted below, Korn did a video for the Tomb Raider movie: The Cradle of Life, and I happen to think this song and the clip rocks. So I’m sharing it with you all. Oh and a couple of funky pics as well that I just had to throw in as well…’cause I could!