Oz Bites

by Mary Hughes

  I didn’t tell him about the variation.

  Looking up saddles on Wikipedia, I’d seen what the Ancient One meant about halfway down. Theme and variation suggested one helluva variation for locking happy parts. But more, theme and variation applied to all aspects of making love. And to life in general, but right now was about bed play.

  Julian and I had only been married four months, but we had a sexual rhythm going, a sequence of actions that led to mutual satisfaction. That was our theme.

  His not biting was a variation. I was about to spawn a whole lot more.

  I knelt between my husband’s thighs, enjoying the rub of his legs on my ribs, and kissed the dent of his navel. My tongue came out to play. Our theme would take me down the black ribbon highway to tongue-lash Mr. Big Gavel into growing even bigger, and Julian knew it.

  Except I didn’t.

  Theme and variation. The theme was licking the highway, the variation was going north instead of south. I raised myself onto my feet to tongue the valley between his impressive abs, stretching myself along his sleek skin, enjoying his exhalation of surprise on my way up.

  I also enjoyed his hands grabbing my thighs. His fingers, traipsing around to my swollen vulva. Slipping onto my sweet spot, greeting me like a lover. I paused with my nose in his abs to enjoy the sensation of his hot finger caressing the hood, over and over. He pressed harder as my enjoyment got serious. I hissed a tiny moan against his bronzed skin when he caught the rhythm just right.

  A little wow shimmered through me. My fingers clenched against his hard muscles. His torso rippled with response at my pleasure.

  That was one theme I’d never get tired of, his loving me so much that my orgasms gave him joy.

  I started my licky way up his abs again. When I reached the underside of one pectoral mesa, I climbed onto his thighs.

  Here the theme was licking his nipples, and I did some of that. The variation? I wet one, heating it with my tongue…and then blew cool air over it.

  The nub tightened gratifyingly into a ruby snap. I repeated the variation with the other nipple and was rewarded with another snap—and a nudge from something between our bellies, something hot and smooth, something big and growing bigger. Oh yeah, here was another theme to enjoy.

  I grabbed said hot and smooth like a big saddle pommel and prepared to mount. He tucked his hips back slightly, retracting his goodies so that only six inches or so was exposed, ensuring I didn’t impale myself on his full length.

  But instead of straddling him and yelling yee-hah, I curled my legs together and pivoted to the side.

  I felt, rather than saw, his head tilt with curiosity. Heh. It really didn’t take some wingding never-before-heard-of position to intrigue my seen-it-all husband. Just theme and variation. Theme, cowgirl.

  Variation? Sidesaddle.

  Sideways on his lap, I rocked onto his erection. I took him in fully, or at least the part that wasn’t iceberg between his thighs. Julian was thick, and with my slot A turned ninety degrees to his tab B, even thicker. I shuddered with every inch going in and he hissed between his teeth the whole way.

  So. Off to a good start.

  His arms curled around me, holding me like we were cuddling watching a movie. I snuggled into his embrace, feeling protected and loved. The smell of his skin and our sex was an extra shiver of delight.

  He rocked his hips forward, his cock thrusting into me. I slid arms around his neck as he refastened his hands to cuddle me closer—and thrust again.

  Holding me tight, he got into a rhythm.

  His hips were a reverse jackhammer, taking me from below. His cock never penetrated more than those six inches, but he pounded my buttocks with his thighs until my breasts were bouncing and I wanted to scream. It was amazing. The fast brilliance of his bite, and the riptide of his full, deep penetration, okay, great, but mere lightning compared to the earth-shuddering, window-rattling thunder of his inexorable thrusts, driving me up the slope of pleasure.

  Need, love and desire built until I had to have something to bite. Curled on his lap I was level with his throat, and my teeth fastened on the base of his neck.

  He made a noise deep in his chest, a feral rumble, a rough purr of pleasure. His fingers gripped me harder and he rocked faster. He tilted side to side with each thrust, pressure and pleasure igniting every point inside me.

  I gasped as he ran me up the slope of desire to the dizzying summit.

  His fingers bit into my chin, raised my face for a savage kiss. His tongue thrust every bit as deep and hard as his cock couldn’t. He ravaged my mouth as I knew he wanted to ravage me.

  His other hand jammed between my clenched thighs. Hitting the cleft, he began to rub me, fingers pulsing with a whole-hand vibrato that rocked my world.

  I sailed over the precipice. I shouted my pleasure into his mouth, shuddering with release. He took it, swept my mouth for more. Sweet waves of climax wrung my body clean.

  When awareness came back I was curled tightly in his arms, feeling incredibly fresh, incredibly loved, and sleepy.

  We cuddled for days…or minutes…on the couch. I floated in perfection.

  Something chimed near my feet. It was Julian’s phone, on the end table. His hand shot out, maybe to smash it, but he’d had his mind blown too and only slapped it. It went to voicemail.

  It immediately started ringing again. Adrenalin flashed my veins. Only two beings in the world had that kind of timing, and it was too late for my mother to call. I grabbed the phone, triumphant with the opportunity to give Scary Dude some of his own enigmatic sees-all, knows-all medicine. “Your timing’s off. You just missed the O-train.”

  “Thank you for the image, Ms. Emerson.” If Mr. Annoying Ancient was disconcerted, it didn’t show. “Next time I won’t wait.”

  Implying his timing wasn’t off. That next time he’d call right when… Ouch. Talk about painful images. He’d won this round but I’d never acknowledge it directly. “You want Julian?”

  He surprised me by saying, “No. You may as well hear this too. We questioned the quartet of rogues you fought. The answers led us to some disturbing information. The bugged flamingos are only the first move in a very long game. Unfortunately we can’t identify if the target is the musical, Meiers Corners, or if there’s some other objective.”

  “If it’s Meiers Corners, we can take care of ourselves.”

  “Yes. But my ward…in case she is the target, I’m sending a bodyguard for her. I’d appreciate it if they could both stay with you.”

  “Here? With Julian and me?”

  “Since you are involved with the show, yes.”

  “You’ll owe me.” Brash Nixie was back and I found it almost fun to tempt death on a stick. “You’ll owe me another favor.”

  “Not the same kind, I hope.” His voice had gone desert dry.

  “Well…let me think.”

  I’d learned to let others play their parts. A favor was the equivalent of a person owing you the part, like a friend who promises to do your wedding processional. Great if an organist or trumpet player owes you, not so hot if it’s a virtuoso kazoo.

  But what could I do if the conductor owed me?

  Only one thing. And again, it was for Ancient ears only. “Julian honey?”

  Julian’s eyes rolled open. “Oh no. Not now.”

  “But the baby wants a Heavenly Angel Choco-peanut Sundae.”

  “The baby wants it. Right.” But he was thankfully dressing. “Der BurgerHimmel?” It was our local burger stand.

  “Where else?” I dimpled at him.

  Julian sighed and left.

  When he was gone I said into the phone, “You still there, Ancient Dude?”

  “Waiting with bated breath.”

  “Really? What does that mean, anyway?”

  “Bate, as in abate. Held breath.”

  “Not such a biggie for you then, huh?” I waited for a chuckle or even a groan, but apparently he was still holding. Stupid optional respiration. “
Here’s the deal. You run some of the smartest, strongest vampires in existence. Including my husband, who does you all sorts of ad hoc chores. Some of them are easy, some not so much. Some of your chores are downright dangerous.”

  “And?” His tone had changed to alert…and if I weren’t hearing things, he was also intrigued.

  “I want to be able to say no. That’s my favor from you. I want one time veto power, any time, anywhere.”

  “One time only? Perhaps. Although Emerson has a unique set of skills… There aren’t many who can replace your husband.”

  “Exactly my point.” I put a hand on my belly, only recognizing what I’d done after I’d done it. Julian was irreplaceable, especially now with his family increasing.

  “Worthy. Very well.” The Ancient One’s tone was quite satisfied. “One time. Whenever, wherever you want.”

  “Good deal.” I paused. “Sounds like you expected worse. Maybe I get one more favor? Like a pointer for position Seven…?”

  “Ms. Emerson. The land of Oz is enchanting, colorful, and teeming with kindly characters. It’s also a land of poisonous flowers, deadly flying monkeys and wicked witches.”

  “Huh. Are you saying you’re a wicked witch?”

  The sharp silence could have been either a deadly retort or a suddenly muffled snort. But his voice, when it came again, was as cutting as shards of black volcanic glass. “Just stay on the yellow brick road, Ms. Emerson, and don’t annoy the wizard. Oz is pleasant, but it also has a bite.”

  I shuddered. The warning, delivered in that cellar-deep bass, was seven levels of scary.

  Then I took a deep breath, and reminded myself that soloist Nixie was self-confident and always ready with a comeback. “Yeah? Well, well…Oz Bites sounds like a cereal.”

  Pretty good. Too bad I’d said it to a dial tone, dammit.

  About the Author

  Mary Hughes is a computer consultant, professional musician and writer. At various points in her life she has taught Taekwondo, worked in the insurance industry, and studied religion. She is intensely interested in the origins of the universe. She has a wonderful husband (though happily-ever-after takes a lot of hard work) and two great kids. But she thinks that with all the advances in modern medicine, childbirth should be a lot less messy.

  To learn more about Mary Hughes, please visit http://www.maryhughesbooks.com/.

  Look for these titles by Mary Hughes

  Now Available:

  Bite My Fire—Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  Biting Nixie—Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  The Bite of Silence—Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  Biting Me Softly—Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  Black Diamond Jinn (A Hot SF/Fantasy Novella)

  Coming Soon:

  Biting Oz—Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  Please continue reading for an excerpt from Biting Oz

  Real vampires do musicals.

  Biting Oz

  © 2012 Mary Hughes

  Biting Love, Book 5

  Gunter Marie “Junior” Stieg is stuck selling sausage for her folks in small-town Meiers Corners. Until one day she’s offered a way out—the chance to play pit orchestra for a musical headed for Broadway: Oz, Wonderful Oz.

  But someone is threatening the show’s young star. To save the production, Junior must join forces with the star’s dark, secretive bodyguard, whose sapphire eyes and lyrical Welsh accent thrill her. And whose hard, muscular body sets fire to her passions.

  Fierce as a warrior, enigmatic as a druid, Glynn Rhys-Jenkins has searched eight hundred years for a home. Junior’s get-out-of-Dodge attitude burns him, but everything else about her inflames him, from her petite body and sharp mind to what she can do with her hip-length braid.

  Then a sensuous, insidious evil threatens not only the show, but the very foundations of Meiers Corners. To fight it, Junior and Glynn must face the truth about themselves—and the true meaning of love and home.

  Warning: Cue the music, click your heels together, make a wish and get ready for one steamy vampire romance. Contains biting, multiple climaxes, embarrassing innuendos, ka-click/ka-ching violence, sausage wars and—shudder—pistachio fluff.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Biting Oz:

  I had just pulled black jeans and a black T-shirt over a lacy powder-blue thong and demi-bra (they were next in the underwear drawer—really) and was brushing my teeth when a knock came at the attic door.

  “That’s weird.” No one ever knocked. Because of the setup, my parents were the only ones who had access to the attic, and they took unholy delight in bursting in on me unannounced. Especially (to my chagrin) when I was “going through puberty”, if you know what I mean. Curious, I spat and rinsed and headed for the far door. It took me across my “hallway”.

  Picture a capital T. Turn it sideways and set it on our house, the top bar along Jefferson in the south. My room—bedroom and tiny bath—was at the intersection, sitting like a tree fort in the branches of the attic, the rest being bare rafters and blown insulation.

  The stairwell door was at the foot of the T. A set of two-by-fours laid over the joists was my hall. I traveled it by instinct, ignoring the fact that one wrong step would put me through my parents’ ceiling. If I ever got out of here, I’d be a shoo-in for a high wire act.

  I hurried to the door and opened it. Swallowed my tongue.

  Filling the doorway and then some was Glynn, hands thrust in his black leather jacket pockets.

  His jaw, freshly shaved, was more honed than I remembered, his skin almost dewy. His lips… I groaned. The upper begged for a nibble, the lower demanded a full tongue-swipe. Those edible lips parted, revealing strong white teeth. The tip of his tongue peeked through.

  A storm of lust broke in my belly, drenched my thong.

  Glynn’s nostrils flared, elegant yet animal. His eyes—smack me with a kielbasa, his eyes burned deep, hot purple.

  “H…how’d you get in?” I croaked. More thong-dousing—apparently parts of me wanted to know how he’d “get in” too.

  “Through the store. Your teenager wasn’t very attentive. I found my way into the house.”

  “You penetrated the family abode?” Penetrated. Just club me. “Um, why have you come?” Come. “Here, I mean. Why have you come here…to the store? Yes, that’s what I meant.” Shut up, Junior.

  I heard a soft grunt, a stifled groan. Him or me, I didn’t know.

  “I’ve come to pick you up.” His mouth barely moved, lips stiff. “We’ve Emerson’s limo.” He shifted his hands from his jacket to jam them into his jeans pockets.

  “Limo?” My eyes automatically latched on to his hands, which framed a rising zipper. “You’re offering me a fast ride…?” Oh, thank you, Dr. Freud. I cleared my throat and pretended I wasn’t an ass. “You do know the PAC is only a block from here?”

  “It’s on our way. I didn’t like the thought of you toting those heavy instruments when I could do something about it.”

  “That was nice.” Trapped in a limo with Big Dark and Dangerous, porn flick fantasy number five. Maybe I should have refused, but lugging the headless-corpse sax was a pain. Besides, how much trouble could we get into in just one block? “Give me a sec to pack up.” I started to close the attic door. Manners took over. “Why don’t you come back? Be careful to stay on the walkway.” I started for my room.

  No footsteps clunked behind me. I took a couple more steps but still heard nothing, so I twisted around to see if he was there.

  I managed to twist myself off-balance. I tried to catch myself, but my foot hit the edge of the narrow walkway, skidded off. No nearby walls or even studs to grab, so I fell.

  With incredible speed and grace, Glynn snared me just before I put a Junior-size hole through my parents’ ceiling. I was ridiculously grateful—until I realized he’d caught me around the breasts.

  And that one big, hot hand was gently squeezing.

  I sucked in a breath. Jagged darts of lust fired from that rhythmica
lly squeezing hand and arrowed down my belly to detonate in my groin.

  “Ah, Junior. You’re so soft.” Glynn’s breath heated my hair. “So lovely.” He rolled me around until I was facing him. His arms wrapped me, bands of hard muscle. “I didn’t sleep at all last night, thinking about you. Your scent, your feel. Your taste.”

  I stared up at him, wondering if I had really fallen through the ceiling gypsum and was lying unconscious on my folks’ kitchen floor. This gorgeous stranger had been thinking about me all night? My brain tried to make sense of it… He dropped his head and kissed me.

  His mouth took me slowly. Not leisurely slow but purposefully slow, thoroughly, his lips circling gently. Like we lay entwined on a summer beach, cool sand below, warm sun above, with nothing to do but each other. And he was going to do me oh, so right.

  My eyelids drifted shut, my palms slid onto his chest. His hard, thick pecs were warm slabs of brick.

  He dipped in, tongue licking lightly at my mouth. My lips parted, my breath mingled with his and I tasted masculine fire. I opened more eagerly for him—but he backed off, tonguing the corners of my mouth, tracing the outline of my lips. Rubbing lightly yet thoroughly. Sweetly, as if we had lifetimes to explore each other.

  Like a kiss of commitment.

  I pulled back. “No involvement” was more than an aim, it was a mantra. Duty to my parents, followed by my dreams. Commitment didn’t figure in except as a stumbling block to avoid.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”

  I was afraid, not that he’d hurt me physically, but that he’d take over my future.

  He didn’t know that and only held me more firmly. Securely. Despite my doubts, I felt safe in his warm, strong arms.

  Until he bent and kissed the stuffing out of me, tongue swirling masterfully, pure, hot sensation. I squeaked but he distracted me by rubbing his muscled chest into my palms. My fingers tightened compulsively. The man’s pecs were sauna rocks set to steaming. My fear melted away, leaving only need.