A HAUNTED SUMMER
Here’s a short story I wrote for Halloween. Have a spooky All Hallows Eve!
~~~~~~~
Look at her lying there on the old iron bed. They’ve just bathed her and changed the linens, so the room smells fresh and clean as a summer breeze. If only they’d open the window, she could smell the river and the sweet honeysuckle vine growing on its banks. They’ve brought videos to for her to watch other people’s lives when she has none.
I’m the only one who can breathe life into her numb body.
Maribelle would be running down by the river, swimming naked in its cool waters, if I weren’t such a treacherous playmate, leading her a merry dance across the moss slick river rocks. She slipped and hit her head. I cried as they carried her away—to this room, her world now.
Yet, she loves me still. See her eyes searching the room and when her gaze lands on my face, she smiles. She calls me. Pardon me, I shall go to her now. I’ll kiss her, and her pretty mouth will open sweetly for my tongue. I’ll suckle her breasts, caress her, and maybe even give her a good hard shafting. She loves to watch me do it to her. She can’t feel anything else, and she grows tired of the endless videos.
Being with my Mari is the only pleasure in my life. Is it because of my guilt you ask.
Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not.
They’ve gone and left her in peace. A frown has creased her smooth brow. She is remembering. See how a smile has lit her eyes. She relives the days when our passion burned bright and her supple young body would engulf me and leave me weak as a child. Yes, Belle is recalling that summer, less than a year ago, down by the river.
We met in the steamy heat of July. Eight months, she’s lain helpless in that bed. Time once meant nothing to me. Now, I count the days as surely as any mortal man. Last summer was the closest to heaven I’ll ever get . . .
~*~
Even now, though she could move only her eyes, Maribelle recalled and treasured the night Devlin first appeared. His beautiful body wearing an aura of moonlight, standing tall and slender, he was male perfection. His hair was true black and longish. His eyes—what could she say of those magnificent eyes—stunning and blue, yes, an enchanting blue she’d never seen before…or since. That blue did not exist in this world.
Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, call Devlin, but that wondrous night in the grass by the riverbank she learned she could never live without him. With the water whispering over rock, he’d made good the sensual promise he’d made the first time he visited her, loving her slow and deep again and again as the moon rose.
It had been midsummer, the night alive with dancing fireflies and humming crickets. Her window was open to a honeysuckle breeze. Rich, buttery moonlight slatted through the dusty blinds drawing white lines on the bare floor. River scent stalked her as she paced like a caged animal, driven by the need to escape her small town existence. If only she could run away to the city, but she was stuck here with the gurgling, never-ending song of the river. Tonight, she turned eighteen—for all the good it’d do her.
A haunting need sang low in her body, swept up her in throbbing waves. Neither the moonlight nor the sweet summer smells offered any respite. Maribelle was wired and edgy. She coasted to a halt by the window, resting her cheek against the pane to stare at the moon.
“I’m trapped.” Her voice echoed in the silence of the room she shared with her sisters. “I couldn’t stand that old man touching me. I don’t regret telling him I’d rather marry a monkey.”
What would her folks think when they found out her answer to Mr. Jones’ proposal was to laugh? God knows, they had a surplus of daughters and could stand getting rid of one.
The old iron bed creaked as she flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. In the living room, the new flat screen TV droned. She resented the expensive purchase. Momma and Dad couldn’t afford it. They’d said it was for their girls. The useless, senseless words on the game show her family were watching coaxed sleep.
****
Ripe with passion, flushed with eighteen-year-old innocence, Maribelle closed her eyes and sighed. The room, well, I returned her sigh. She wasn’t beautiful but something about her appealed to me more than beauty. If only she’d call me—like her grandmother and her mother before her—I’d ease her pain.
****
A tear slid down her cheek. “I want out of this godforsaken corner of Mississippi. I want a man–a handsome man to love me–not some old codger everyone says is a witch.”
The clock chimed, warning Maribelle that soon Annabelle and Florence would troop into the room and her precious alone time would end in senseless chatter. Exhaling another heavy sigh, she flipped onto her side. The room sighed its sympathy.
The wind rose, fluttering the white drifty curtains, smelling of a storm. Lightning split the sky, momentarily joining Heaven and Earth. A horrible crescendo of thunder rattled the windows. Was Old Man Jones conjuring up a storm? She laughed at a memory of her rejected suitor’s face. Witch indeed! He was just a lecherous old codger.
The stormy breeze found her lying on the bed and stroked her hair back from her neck, cooling her face. She closed her eyes. Airy fingers explored the contours of her face, her ears. As invisible lips brushed her mouth, she gasped, her eyes snapping open. Insubstantial kisses trailed like butterfly wings over her bare shoulder, to rest briefly on the top of her left breast. Pleasant chills rippled over her. Beneath her pink flannel gown, her nipples peaked. Deep within, a hot pulsing awoke. Her body was alive, needing as she’d never before craved anything and resonating to the phantom caresses.
Slowly, one-by-one, the tiny buttons on her gown opened. The faded fabric parted, exposing her breasts to the searching lips. She shivered as thrills chased over her. Anticipation coalesced into a pulsating between her legs.
Maribelle craved these wondrous sensations more than the next breath. Many times, she awoke in the night drenched in sweat, longing for a lover. Moist and warm, a mouth closed on her nipples. Teeth scraped, bit at the sensitive nub. The delicious pain shot desire through her. She twisted on her bed, moaning. The pleasure was becoming unbearable. Her hips swiveled up to meet . . . nothing. She needed weight pressing her into the feather mattress. She wanted to be filled, impaled. She was so ready. She needed to meet passion head-on.
The invisible mouth trailed to her other breast. Fingers closed, rotating, pinching on the abandoned nipple. Her body melted into the sensual caresses. Hands explored lower, now gripping her hip bones. And then she felt the lips on her stomach, hands cupping her bottom, drawing her hips up to meet the pleasure. Gentle fingers parted her. Other fingers, not gentle, pinched her nipples to unbearable hardness. The excruciating need grew more intense, lifting her, without will, borne solely by instinct. Her body trembled in a prelude to satisfaction.
Maribelle groaned and forced her eyes open. This dream was too real. Too incredibly, wonderfully real.
The arousing attentions of hands and mouth ceased. Her breath caught in her throat. Her scream froze. This was no dream. Silhouetted against the window stood a tall figure fashioned from moonlight and river breezes.
“Mari.” The voice was full-bodied, rich as homemade wine.
She went cold inside, shivering as she reached down to cover herself, but the flannel material draped across her knees. Her shiver of passion became a tremor of fear. She managed to force her words past the lump in her throat. “Who are you?”
“I am Devlin.” Light cascaded down a river of luxurious dark hair and reflected on a high cheek bone.
Maribelle struggled in vain to capture a glimpse of her visitor’s face. “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?”
“You called me. You wanted me.” A low, thrilling laugh sent a shock of arousal through her. “Very, very much.”
“Did Old Man Jones send you? Are you a demon?”
A whispered laugh answered. “I am Devlin. No more. No less.”
Drenched in humiliation, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.
“My love.” The words and the spirit materialized above her.
Their gazes locked, and for the first time she saw his enchanting eyes. She drew a long breath to speak, but slim fingers curled around her chin. Her protests melted in expectancy. Unspoken words filled the silence. She knew what was going to happen. Wicked, commanding lust danced in eyes so blue they shamed the sky. There was ample time to avoid the kiss as his face drifted toward hers, but she was mesmerized, each particle of her being poised, waiting.
The storm broke. Through the open window, rain splattered the floor and soaked the filmy curtains.
He kissed her lightly on the mouth, then straightened. “Your sisters come. I’ll return. You have but to call. However, you must tell no one about me. I am your secret. Meet me tomorrow night by the river, sweet Maribelle, and I shall teach you about love. You are mine now. I am yours.”
competition and put what we do into verse. Here are the initial entries:
You’ve finished your book – now what? You want to share it with the world- and you want to make some money while you’re doing it. However, if you are like most of us, you don’t have unlimited funds to put into getting your work published and promoted.
BDSM ménage erotic romance
surrenders to temptation. But at what cost? As the clock ticks down to her blockbuster release and her infernal Master prepares to claim her soul, Wendy must choose either celebrity and wealth, or obscurity and true love.
Fin d’Espoir. He has sworn to never again taste taste human blood, but when slender, raven-haired Madeleine begs him to take her, he can resist neither her nor her lover Troy.
Enter the fourth world – a world of lust and shadows, where anything can happen. Obsessive passion and dark ecstasy mark these seven stories of paranormal desire. Expect to be unbearably aroused and occasionally terrified.
real, and potentially devastating. When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the
Rajasthani Moon
Instinct tells Shaina to visit the feral cat trap she’d set in Central Park. When she listens to that inner voice, she discovers she has caged a magnificent black tom. But the cat inexplicably vanishes after she tends to his wounds. Seeking the errant feline, Shaina encounters instead a handsome stranger whose slightest touch sets her body on fire. As the day dawns after a night of ferocious passion, her mysterious lover is forced back into his true shape – the tomcat she’d rescued.
mind and relief from the terrifying dreams that plagued me after my dear wife’s death. Instead, I found myself in a waking nightmare.
For decades, raven-maned Marguerite and red-headed Beryl have lived among the hard-working inhabitants of Gloucester, making magic and mischief. Love and sex fuel their supernatural abilities, but duality limits their power. To reach their full potential, they need a third witch to complete their circle. Platinum-haired Emmeline, newly arrived in the historic seaport town, may well be the enchantress they have been awaiting for so long.
searched everywhere for someone who could understand and satisfy my particular needs. S&M folk like to believe they’re tolerant and accepting.
Horse trainer Stone Dempsey’s life is all about the ride—with horses and women. He uses his equine talents to impress the country club set and earn money for Smoky Mountain Reining Horses. When his drug-addicted sister deposits her sick baby on his doorstep, he’s suddenly saddled with real responsibility.
beyond the stable into twilight.