They were both gloriously naked. No quick, huddled fuck in a dark corner, while they looked over their shoulders. They had shed their clothing. Hers was flung toward the far end of the vast, shining oak tabletop. Somehow, Sian knew it wasn’t the woman who had tossed them.
Dominic gripped the woman’s hips and pushed into her again. His cock was red and covered in her moisture. She was very wet, but as he slid into her slick aperture, her hips pushed up, making a bow of her back and thrusting her round, firm breasts up into the air. The nipple were sharp tips.
But Dominic ignored them. Sian saw his hand shift and the strong thumb slide down into the woman’s cleft, to stroke her clitoris.
The woman moaned with a deep, genuine pleasure that tore from her throat. The sound was profoundly erotic. Sian sucked in a quick breath that hitched with her own swiftly building need. God, she was wet with it and her own genitals throbbed with an ache so acute she wanted to push her fingers inside her panties right here and now and bring herself to the swift orgasm that hovered.
But she had been heard. Dominic lifted his head, looking at the doors.
Sian let the door swing shut, knowing it was too late. Her heart thundered.
“Sian?” he said sharply.
How had he known? She fell back against the door panel, weighing her options. Running was the most favourable.
But it was too late. The other half of the door shuddered open under the impact of his hand and he was before her. He seemed oblivious to his own nakedness, or the fact that his cock jutted proud, still coated with another woman’s juices.
Sian could not keep her eyes off it. She tried to slip past him, but he slapped his hands against the door on either side of her, trapping her.
His sky blue eyes bored into her. “It’s not polite to spy,” he said, his voice harsh. She had grown up listening to that harsh, unforgiving voice. “There’s penalties, you know.”
She looked down and saw that she was naked. Exposed, vulnerable. As much as her body ached to have him batter his way inside her as he had the woman on the table, Sian was at the same time terrified.
He reached for her, and her terror swelled. “No, you’ll kill me...!” she cried.
She woke abruptly, her heart pounding with her terror, and her scream echoing in her mind. She sucked in warm, humid air, feeling the fear drain from her. As it departed, she became aware of her intense arousal. Her body was swollen with it.
It was always this way.
“Goddam it,” she muttered, and let her head fall back on the sweaty pillow. The mat beneath her was hot from the radiance of her extreme body heat. The night air was still and muggy, and did nothing to cool her through the mosquito netting.
She lifted her wrist and looked at her watch, the one piece of technology she had refused to trade off for food or accommodation. The luminous dial showed her it was just past three a.m. May 16 and the end of another week. Jesus wept.
It meant that the dream had woken her five times this last week gone. A new record. Weren’t dreams supposed to fade? It had been three years, for god’s sake.
That’s when she heard the sound. She froze, listening hard. The natural sounds of the jungle that stood spitting distance from her door she barely heard any more. But now she focused on them. Steady dripping from a recent rain. Monkeys screaming, a long way off. Chittering of unknown creatures. The brush of leaves against each other in the upper levels where the wind could reach. Deep, dank, thick silence in the lower levels, broken by odd sounds that could be bigger creatures moving along the paths.
But nothing human thundering its way along, breaking twigs and branches, rustling and crunching leaves. Hacking at growth with a machete. Even the highland tribes who lived in the jungle’s depth could not progress through it with the same silence as other animals.
She tried to relax. She was still safe.
Then the sound came again, and she surged upright, her right hand reaching for the knife she kept under the mat.
She strained to hear it again. There. Very distant.
Motorized. Mechanical. Metal on metal.
Vehicle.
Someone was coming.
About the Author
Tracy Cooper-Posey is a national award-winning writer. An Australian, she brought her family with her to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada in 1996 to marry. Tracy is a net citizen— she met her husband on the Internet, and has coordinated discussion groups and teaching on-line. She also built and maintains her own web site. She has taught creative writing both on-line and at university, and entertains students and the public with anecdotes and insights into the publishing industry.
By the end of 2011, Tracy had published 38 titles, under her own and other pennames. She has won the Emma Darcy Award, and the Sherlock Holmes Society of Western Australia’s Best Pastiche Award. She has been a Romantic Times Top Pick author. Her short stories and articles have appeared in various Canadian and Australian magazines and periodicals, and on the Internet. Thief In The Night was announced as one of RRT Review’s Best Book of the Year, and also selected by eCataRomance for their Reviewers’ Choice Awards in February 2007. Her 2004 historical Romantic suspense, Heart Of Vengeance, was nominated for a CAPA Award for Best Historical of 2004, a Romantic Times Magazine Reviewer’s Choice finalist for best medieval historical Romance for 2004, and was published in Germany in February 2007. In 2010, she was again nominated for the prestigious CAPA awards, in the best erotic paranormal category, and as favourite author, and in 2011, for best paranormal Romance. In early 2011 she began self-publishing her novels, with Blood Knot, which has been nominated at least twice for Book-Of-The-Year.
So far her life has encompassed an eighteen month stint on war-ravaged Bougainville Island in Papua New Guinea, and at various times she has been a secretary, office clerk, single mother, freelance writer, public speaker, columnist, law student, international traveler, writing teacher, advertising production coordinator (for a national newsmagazine), web-press production coordinator, and the first female cinematograph operator in Western Australia. She has been the editor of WHERE Edmonton magazine, and managing editor of the national magazine, Canadian Cowboy Country Magazine, and for a decade, she taught creative writing at Grant MacEwan University. She currently lives in Edmonton with her husband, a professional wrestler. You can find her web site at http://www.tracycooperposey.com.
Delly's Last Night (Go Get 'Em Women) Page 6
