“Moss-can’t-need-must, please … now.” Something old and primitive in nature drove her every move. Told her what he wanted and needed and though he’d just placed her on the windowsill, she knew he needed to dominate, and it was within her power to submit.
In a show of submission, she hopped down off the window ledge, whirled around and grasped the sill before her, leaning outwards, elongating her body and tilted her ass upwards in offering. Exposing her core, proving she was ready for him, in a most basic position. She almost laughed from giddy nervousness as she seductively pivoted her hips back and forth, desperately hoping the slight swaying would lure him into immediate entry. Her breathing was so ragged she feared she’d hyperventilate and pass out before obtaining her objective. She was desperate, plain and simple. No more foreplay — here, now, must have.
The heat of his body as he sidled up behind her, kicking her legs farther apart, spiked shivers over her. His hands went to her hips as he nudged her entrance, still toying with her. She moaned and tried to nestle back, forcing him to enter. His hands began rubbing up and down her spine, each pass pushing her upper body more downward. She gasped, startled when he plunged a finger in, apparently checking her readiness.
Readiness? Hell, she was so far past ready it wasn’t even funny. Lifting her ass as high as she could, she arched her backside before lunging backwards, taking matters into her own hands.
He entered hard and swift, and if not for her death grip on the sill, she most likely would have sailed clear through to the other side. It was glorious. He created a decadent fullness as her body struggled to sheath him in his entirety. He continued filling her as every inch of her shivered in completion. When he lunged into her again, she screamed. Not in pain, but in pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Something changed within her and she suspected within him as well. There was a strong sense of bonding and unity much like how the swamp itself is both beautiful and deadly, yet comes together in harmony to create a magical environment. The moon seemed to adorn the union, gifting them with silvery threads of light that played off his ornate tattoos, visible to her only on the arm snaring her waist.
For each of his voracious thrusts, she braced herself against the sill and luxuriated in euphoric bliss. When he released her hips and snaked an arm around to cup her breast, she glimpsed that the hand, his hand, bore claws. These dangerous talons, which she had no doubt could shred her in a moment’s haste, ever so carefully began to knead her achy breasts. There was something so erotic about the danger and gentleness of the act.
Rough yet gentle, wild but tame, human but not. Moss was everything right now. One talon-spiked hand wrapped about her waist while the other drew her head back enough she felt his tongue flick against her lips. She parted her eyelids enough to see that his pupils had become oval shaped and his tongue appeared to have split. She reached behind her and ran a hand down his shoulder, and even at her awkward angle, she felt a difference in his skin. Not cold, or scaly — no, more smooth and cool like a seashell. And the visual? Stunning. Rather like that of the beautiful coquina shell. Iridescent with many colorful hues, but the predominant color was that of bluish-green.
Regardless of what Moss might be, he was unique and oh, so damn hot. As her orgasm roared to the surface, he firmly urged her head to the side and laid molten kisses on her exposed neck, lapping and sucking on its hypersensitive skin.
But what he did next startled her in the most pleasant of ways.
Chapter Six
He continued to piston in and out, causing knee-shaking, sigh-inducing friction. She gasped at the slight sting on her neck. The spot he’d been working with such fevered intent. Not painful as no sooner than she felt it … then the world around her exploded into a multitude of sensations and emotions. She trembled from whatever the bite did to her but, at the moment, she didn’t care what it was.
The orgasm ripped through her, more powerful than she’d ever thought possible. Colors became more vibrant, clashing together to cause the strangest kaleidoscope.
Yet he wasn’t done. Yowza.
She clung to the sill as he continued thrusting into her time and time again, so hard his balls slapped her clit, further enhancing whatever the hell he’d done to her neck. Their grunts, groans and sighs overtook all other sounds around them. Even drowned out the crickets.
“Moss — God, yesssssssss,” she screamed out in ecstasy.
Still riding the orgasmic high and unable to form coherent words, she sighed when he turned her around and carried her over to the bed. After setting her down, he climbed in and spooned up next to her, his large body almost cocooning hers in jigsaw-like precision. She was pretty certain that this was what heaven felt like.
His large body cradling hers, so protective and possessive, was a decadent treat, and in no time, she drifted off. For the first time in her entire life, she didn’t worry what tomorrow held. Her nightmares were put on hold, all thanks to her handsome new friend and lover, Moss.
• • •
Beth was so much more than he’d ever dreamed. Real, and here with him, and even if only for the moment … his dream was real.
Hard as he’d tried to refrain from marking her, in the end the beast won the round. The urge to mate and mark overwhelmed any form of self-preservation he’d held. His marking shouldn’t affect her in her world, where mortals walked side by side and lazy human males left their women unaccompanied and unprotected. No, when she returned to her world his warning would go unnoticed. He understood someone like Beth would never willingly want to stay in his world, this savage place where only the strong survived. Where alphas ruled, the predators hunted, and only those willing to do whatever necessary lived to see another day.
Yes, he could force her to stay. Take a captive bride, keep her chained to him by day and wrapped around him during the nights. Just the thought made him growl possessively. He wanted nothing more than to howl into the night that he’d found his mate. He felt it as clearly as he’d sensed her, lost and frightened in the swamp, hours earlier.
Her essence, her blood, and her soul called to him in a way that defied logic. Like a song gently carried by the warm swamp winds, bringing her to him.
He hadn’t replied to her huskily whispered pleas during their lovemaking with words but instead answered with bodily action, which had seemed more than acceptable to her. He’d spilled his seed into her welcoming body, filling her with his distinct scent. A scent that no doubt would drive all potential suitors and predators away as they would be able to detect with clarity, her claimed status.
Moss watched as Beth slept peacefully, clothed only in the pale moonlight and felt torn in two. He understood tomorrow’s new day would have her leaving him to return to the sanctity and safety of her own world, family, and possible lovers.
The thought of some other male placing his hands on her in any intimate way brought his fangs and predatory instincts roaring to the surface. All thoughts of males even being interested in her created images of ripping their throats out while injecting his venom in them, before feeding their worthless, miserable carcasses to the many hungry and territorial gators infesting his home here in the swamp.
Heart heavy, he acknowledged staying with him would be unfair and too dangerous for her. Come morning, he would escort her safely to her home then leave her in peace. It was too much to have hoped she held the key to unlocking the curse, which held him here in the swamp. The watery place he now called home, with the creatures he now considered family, for they’d been the only constant companions he’d had for many long years now. He’d looked for any signs she held the secret. But if she indeed held such a key, she wasn’t aware of the fact. To ask her to go into such a dark and evil place to attempt to find it was not something he would ask of her. She might not be his, but she was special, and he would forever hold her in his memories and heart.
Beth would never experience the da
rkness surrounding his existence, and he would take solace in the knowledge of this. He wished her only peace and happiness. If nothing else, he’d go to his grave content that at least once in his miserable existence, he’d done right by someone.
He brushed a kiss across her forehead as sleep carried her farther away.
“Sleep, love, for no harm shall come to cross you while you are here.”
• • •
Beth awoke to sunlight filtering in through cracked wooden shutters. Nice — the windows featured no glass, but by gosh, they sure as hell sported shutters. Strange, to say the least, she mused, looking around for Moss.
Sitting up, she realized she hadn’t been this relaxed in years. The old, lumpy bed hadn’t bothered her at all. She felt like a goddess at the moment. She stretched her bare legs and noted the faint tenderness between her thighs. But damn if last night wasn’t worth every ache and pain nagging her this morning. She was sated in both body and soul, and as a result, Beth wanted to dance about the drafty old place — yes, even naked.
“Moss?” Beth yanked the sheet up and wrapped it about herself as she headed out to the porch. There were no other hidey holes around for the big guy to be.
“Hey, Moss, where are you?” she called as she pulled open the rickety screen door expecting to find him standing there, but found only a humid, vacant porch.
She scanned the swamp, noting the gorgeous way the rising sun reflected off the jade-green waters, but still found no sign of Moss. She lingered, absorbing the beautiful sight while soaking up the warm rays of the sun against her bare skin.
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee made its way into her newly awakened, still-groggy senses. She turned back to the cabin and found an old fashioned, blue speckled kettle hanging over the fire by a wire. On the small wobbly wooden table just next to the fire, sat one lone cup. God love a man who knew to have coffee ready before leaving in the morning. Only after taking two large sips from the best damn cup of coffee in the world did she noticed her clothes. They appeared clean and were folded neat and tidy on a small footstool by the bed.
Not seeing anything even remotely like a bathroom, she dropped the sheet she’d slung about her and dressed while doing the potty dance.
When in Rome. She leaned her rear end over a rusty old coffee container she found stacked in a corner, appearing to be garbage, and aimed well.
After she’d polished off the remainder of the coffee, she realized Moss didn’t appear to be coming back any time soon. She was more than a little hurt — stunned, even. She’d thought there’d been sparks between them last night. Something far more than just an amazing, mind-blowing, one-night stand. She must have been sorely mistaken. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d made this kind of mistake. But he’d seemed so different.
It just didn’t make any damn sense. Why the hell would he have disclosed his secret if he didn’t intend to stay close? Why trust her at all? Maybe he simply didn’t care anymore if the legend of the Bog Monster, his secret, got out. That, in fact, no Bog Monster existed. Only a swamp man. A very natural, organic, swamp Adonis with rippling muscles and tawny skin … and, uh, all his other, very well endowed features.
Had she done something wrong, said something offensive? She couldn’t think what. Last night had contained very few words and far more action.
As she waited for what seemed an eternity, but truly had been only an hour or so, her heart sank with each passing minute.
And then she heard her name whispered. Though the sound was distant, she clearly made it out.
She headed back outside when the voices drew closer. She recognized one as belonging to her deadbeat brother. Wow, only an entire night and a half to find her? She should be impressed he hadn’t given up, gone home, and gotten himself too inebriated to even notify anyone of her absence. He wasn’t the type to have ever been called bright, not even remotely so.
“Robby.” She waved her arms almost reluctantly to grab his attention. He and his friends paddled up to the dock, the canoe rocking precariously.
“Thank God. Where the hell have you been? We’ve been worried sick, and Aunt Grace flipped out on me all damn night,” he spat, climbing out to come and meet her on the dock. They almost fell. She really wished they had.
“I got turned around in the swamp fogs last night and got lost. Thank God I found this place,” she answered, calm and nonchalant. Nice that her brother was more worried about catching hell from Aunt Grace than over the possibility Beth had been injured or worse.
Well, she hadn’t spent the night alone, but she sure as shit wasn’t telling Robby that.
“Damn, lucky thing you found this old termite heap.” Robby pushed past her and entered the cabin, and she couldn’t explain why, but it rattled her as wrong. Like trespassing. This was Moss’s place. His private domain, and yet here her brother and his drunkard buddies were just walking in and tossing things about.
When Brian, Robby’s oldest friend, ran over and jumped high and hard on the old bed, she lost her temper, snapping at him to get off. The bed, Moss’s bed, which they’d snuggled in just hours earlier, nearly broke from the rough abusive treatment. She feared the heathen really would break it and the thought of Moss tossing it out, like he’d apparently done to her, ate a raw spot in her heart.
“Come on, let’s head home,” she urged, growing livid at the audacity of Robby and his friends’ crude behavior.
“Man, check out all the old ancient shit. Hey, Brian, you think any of this old crap might be worth something to old man Withers?” She could see the dollar signs going cha-ching in Robby’s greedy little liquored mind.
“Man, it would be sweet if it was. That crazy ole coot loves old junk like this,” Brian replied, getting those same greedy dollar signs in his eyes.
“Oh, ow.” Moaning, Beth doubled over, gripping the edge of the tiny table as she held her stomach like she was in excruciating pain.
“What’s wrong with you?” Robby asked, more curious than concerned. “You’re not about to hurl or anything, are you?” He backed up, holding up his arms in a staying motion.
“No. I don’t know … maybe? I think I caught something out in the swamp last night.”
“Fine, let’s head back. We can always come back later and scope the place out,” Robby casually replied.
She let the guys lead the way. As she turned to shut the door, she fought back tears from the horrid sense she would never see Moss again. That her Bog Man was gone, and she’d never get the chance to tell him how she felt. Or about the crazy dream she’d had last night. So vivid and real, while filling her with hope and questions for him. If only he’d stayed and given her a chance to tell him about it.
Hell, she wasn’t even sure he would have believed her. Many didn’t believe in the power of dreams or precognition.
Ever since she was a child, she’d dreamt of a man whose back appeared to glow. She’d never seen the face of the man, only sensed his gentle soul and caught the peculiar glow of what she guessed were tattoos on his back. She hadn’t put two and two together until this morning. When, after having the dream again, she remembered that just before she fell asleep, when Moss had turned to climb into bed, the moonlight hit his tattoos. How the combination was so bright, the tats almost glowed. She awoke excited and a bit nervous to explain why she’d thought he felt so familiar.
Giving up her battle, she let the tears flow, streaking down her face as she settled into the canoe, longingly searching the area one last time for her mysterious Bog Man.
Chapter Seven
After a full day of sulking about, Beth’s anger at the so-called Bog Man kicked in. How dare he walk away like she’d been nothing more than a one-night stand, regardless of how damned good the one night may have been? Yeah, highly pissed described her current emotion. After all these years of dreaming of him, and he was nothing more tha
n your typical SOB male out looking for an easy lay.
She wadded up yet another fouled attempt at trying to type her thesis. She’d tried to tune out her anguish enough to proofread, but each time she printed and read, another typo sprang up from the page as if taunting her at her failure. She tossed the crumpled paper and missed the wastebasket. Pfft, freaking perfect. Working or studying right now was slap out of the question, as too many questions lingered regarding Moss. Her mind kept flittering back to when the dreams — or visions, as she thought of them now — had first begun.
They’d been downright horrifying at first. But as she grew older, curiosity outweighed the fear. Mostly about the one that reoccurred so often. Later on, one of her professors had suggested the dream stood for something her subconscious wanted her to deal with. Possibly an underlying fear of being left alone, which did tend to make sense, since she always got a bit jittery when becoming lost.
Through the years, the nightmare had sort of reshaped itself. More accurately, her maturing mind did. She only remembered the fear being replaced by something else. Something more erotic in nature. Of course, by this time her raging hormones and lack of dates more likely explained the change.
The dream always started the same. The sense of terror, her trembling, lost in a swamp at night. Frantically trying to find her way out while a strange, green, hazy, thick mist with an evil glow rolled in, encasing her. The panic of suffocating would hit. As if on cue, a strange, mysterious chanting would start. Like someone taunting her in an evil, singsong way. Hostility was evident in every sung syllable. Even though she never, even to this day, could make out the words, she always sensed the evil nature of them.
Then the dream would slowly morph into her being in a strange cavern, her sheer, white gown plastered to her, making wading through the bogs quite difficult. Within the cavern, she would find a magnificent home. Not an average home where one found normal household fixtures and furniture. No, this one was extraordinary and exotic.
Swamp Magic (Crimson Romance) Page 4
