Supernatural Seduction: 5 Paranormal Novellas

by Holley Trent

  He glanced over his shoulder, skepticism glinted in the tilt of his eyes. “Do you have the proper credentials, Dr. Isabelle? I don’t recall seeing a diploma in your office.”

  “You should have looked closer. It hangs right beside the rave testimonials from my many satisfied patients.”

  “Ah, that I don’t doubt.”

  She returned his smile. “Now, if you expect to get your free therapeutic massage oil, you’ll lie down like a good patient, so I can examine your sexy butt and explain the merits of our unique oral care program.”

  He dropped to the blanket and spread out with his head resting on folded arms. “You don’t have to ask twice. Sign me up. I’m going to be your patient for life.”

  Any second now she’d pry her gaze from the crease at the top of this thigh. “Now just let me check that my jasmine oil is hot enough to stimulate your butt in all the right places.”

  That comment earned her a deep, rolling chuckle. “I think stimulating oil is just fine at room temperature.”

  She smiled again, or had she ever stopped smiling? “I hate it when the patient thinks he knows more than the professional. This is one burn you’re going to love.” She slipped off her shoes and knelt beside him. A light dusting of black hair covered his muscular calves and toned thighs.

  “Okay, doc, you win. I’ll try your oral treatment. I may have a few nooks and crannies in need of your touch.”

  “No worries, I’m qualified to touch all your crannies, and I’ll pay special attention to any stiffness I find, but I’m afraid these boxers must come off. Every good patient knows it’s pants off.”

  “But I’ll be butt-naked then. Don’t I get a gown?”

  A giggle escaped her. A giggle. When was the last time she giggled with a man in his underwear? “I didn’t peg you for the shy type. Okay, I can see you’re going to require special treatment.” She began to knead the backs of his thighs, letting her fingers stray under the hem of his boxers. His hot male skin begged for her lips or her lips begged for his hot male skin. “Some patients get a bit nervous their first time, so I find it good practice to relax the skittish ones.”

  “Yes, skittish, that’s me. Good Lord, I’m starting a campaign for you to be doctor of the year.”

  His charming enthusiasm was too sweet, too appealing. Win the game and go home where you belong. She could do this. Focused on her goal, she inched her way up his thighs and under the hem of those loose boxers. Oh my, they were definitely silk. Onward, inward, she didn’t stop until she felt the skin of a testicle. Her smile grew.

  She paused. It was time to get serious. He hadn’t exercised restraint during his turn. She cupped his left ball as best she could considering his position and ran her thumb in circles over the tightening skin.

  The moan he released widened her smile. “Hey, that’s a little personal. Perhaps we should talk about teeth cleaning some more.”

  “I don’t think so. That might spoil the mood and make you skittish again. Besides it’s time for your kiss. I always drizzle kisses over my favorite patients.” She bit back the urge to giggle again. “Lift your hips please, these boxers must come off.”

  He pinned her with a peek over his shoulder. “Are you sure you graduated from an accredited doctor school?” She nodded and met no resistance when she slid his boxers down over a bum of plum perfect shape.

  Heat infused her nub of divine bliss. She could hardly think that phrase without smiling. He’d spoken with the conviction of a minstrel when confessing he had a romantic side. How could a little divine bliss not be … well, divine? Hot, rhythmic glides of his tongue over her throbbing …

  I don’t burn. I don’t yearn. I am a guru of self-control.

  “Dr. Isabelle? You’re not losing your focus back there, are you?”

  She bit her lip and ran the tips of her fingers across the arch of his left bum cheek. “No, not at all. I’m a professional. Seen one bum, seen ’em all.” Who was she kidding? Sweet plump perfection was laid out like an offering to her. Leaning down, she spoke her throaty request softly into his ear. “Spread your legs wide, please, for my special treatment.” Who knew a little role play could be such fun.

  “I think I’m enjoying this check-up way too much.” His legs came apart enticingly.

  “Good. I love a satisfied patient.” Between his legs, the firelight flickered over the sleek curves of his balls. “A bit farther please.” She nudged his legs apart until the target she sought came exposed.

  She knew exactly what tactic to take. “Did you know the head of the penis contains more nerves than the shaft or the testicles? So very receptive to pleasure that one might even call it the head of divine bliss.”

  His chuckle sounded like touché. “Isabelle, you’re making me want to lose this game and that’s just not right. Do not touch that head. You get one butt kiss and that’s it.”

  Her cheeks hurt from smiling. “Request denied.”

  Her own desire grew as an ache, low and demanding, a craving only to be satisfied by his hot thrusts deep inside her over and over again. Oh, the sweet pressure, the tantalizing pull out and push in, the growing, pulsing build.

  Ack! Don’t think about thrusts.

  “I would not be a doctor of good standing if I didn’t finish this exam, Jonathan.” Peeking out from under him was one drop of semen glistening on his tip. One beckoning drop. She reached a finger toward his satiny head. Closer now. Her breath stalled in her chest as she drew her finger across his most sensitive skin to swirl the drop in little, silky circles over all those nerve endings.

  Around and around and around.

  The fire crinkled and crackled beside them.

  He lay perfectly still.

  She let her hair fall over his bum, her mouth so close to his head of divine bliss, he would feel the heat of her breath. She brushed her lips against his skin, flicked her tongue back and forth for a little taste, a little swirl, a little lollipop suck. He moaned out loud as she changed course and kissed his butt.

  Chapter Seven

  Jonathan rolled over and forced his thoughts on icy images, anything to stop the maddening desire that had sprung to life in every one of those nerve endings Isabelle had touched. “I think we need to take a break.”

  The surprised look on her face, followed immediately by one of victory was sweet enough that he almost considered letting her win. Almost.

  “No, no, no. We are not taking a break.” Her gaze had zeroed in to check on the progress of her handiwork. No hiding the rock-hard evidence there and that bold fixation on him was like jet fuel.

  “Just for a second.” He retrieved his shorts and slipped them on sans boxers. The sensations running through his body at the moment were too acute for his usual composure. He needed a new focus. “Why are you taking a vacation solo?”

  “I wanted to travel alone.” She hesitated enough that he wondered if she would tell him more. “I wanted to explore the underwater caves here and none of my friends thought that sounded like fun.”

  Sounded like fun to him. His interest in Isabelle continued to grow. “So you did the tour of the caves instead of the winery?”

  “Yes. But we’re not going to tour anywhere if we don’t finish the game. I think you’re trying to recover from my tantalizing maneuver. It’s your turn. Roll the die.”

  He chuckled at maneuver. “I’m truly impressed, Isabelle. I didn’t peg you for a risk-taking, outdoors woman.” The image of Isabelle geared up descending into the depths of the Earth was as sexy as the reminder of what lay under her black lace panties. Too much about Isabelle turned him on.

  “Appearances can be deceiving, although I believe I have you pegged,” she said.

  Sidetracked by an image of silky folds and slick, creamy, inviting heat, her last comment took a moment to register. “You think you know me, huh?
”

  Even the determined set of her chin appealed to him. “I think you’re stalling.”

  “Not at all. You don’t think it will increase our arousal to get to know each other?”

  “Yes, I do. But somehow I don’t think getting to know a woman does much for you self-proclaimed bachelors. Don’t you prefer freedom over commitment, variety over consistency? Don’t you worry about connecting emotionally and becoming vulnerable? My guess is you’re a man who doesn’t take risks, a man who scares easy.”

  He laughed. She was so wrong. There was nothing he wouldn’t try, sky-diving, parasailing, hang gliding —

  “If a woman touches your heart, you’re terrified. If you don’t fall in love, then you can’t get hurt.”

  Shit. The smile slid off his face as his gut tightened. The urge to get back to the resort surged through his blood. He picked up the die. “Let’s get back to the game.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m doing too much analyzing lately.”

  “Not at all. I’m not that complicated, Isabelle. I’m thirty years old. Too young to settle down because when I do, I mean it to be forever.” He wouldn’t have a mid-life crisis to sow the oats he should be sowing now. He’d learned that much from his father. “I like my life the way it is. I’m not looking to change anything but my location. That’s it.” Despite her analysis, a sudden image struck him of showing Isabelle the detailed ironwork throughout his grandparents’ house. He studied her shiny sandals and trendy clothes. A contemporary woman, yet she’d fall all over that antique iron.

  “Let’s talk about you, Isabelle. What keeps you busy in the real world besides restoration?”

  “Throw the die and I’ll tell you.”

  He wished he’d not seen the gleam of exhilaration in her eyes at that request. The same gleam he’d seen after she’d twirled her finger over the head of his cock.

  He let the die fall.

  “I have my own business, and it’s not doing too badly.” She had the softest smile he’d ever seen, as if she wouldn’t allow herself the sin of pride.

  “I’m not surprised to know you’re a success. What kind of business?”

  “Antiques. I opened my own shop a few years ago.”

  It figured. His imagination corseted her in antique lace that dipped low enough to show him the barest hint of pink nipples. His irresistible desire for her had him bewildered.

  “I hear it again,” she said. “There’s water running somewhere.”

  “Maybe you’ve picked up my intent to make you wet, baby.”

  Even her frown was gorgeous. What would it be like to share his grandparents’ house with a woman motivated to preserve its historic character? Another dangerous thought. She was like a drug. Life changing. The last thing he wanted. He felt his comfortable world fracture. Scared? He was terrified.

  Just focus on the game, get the hell out of there, and say goodbye to Isabelle.

  “It’s coming from the board,” Isabelle said. “Look. We didn’t notice my last turn came with a message.”

  When he dragged his thoughts back to the game, he heard the sound Isabelle had referred to. On the board, an image glowed from the square where Isabelle had last landed. How had they missed it?

  “It looks like a shower faucet.” Isabelle read the words that flashed hot pink over the image of a water spray. “Isabelle can’t take her next turn with Rhapsody paint on her body. Jonathan, you must take Isabelle and the exceptional soap provided for you into the ocean, at least waist deep, and wash off your drawing. Any clothes Isabelle would like removed must be removed by your hands. You have fifteen minutes from the time you touch the soap.”

  Waist deep into the ocean in the dark? Sweat beaded on his forehead. He wished the reaction were from the insanely sexy demand. He pressed his thumb against the pressure point on his wrist and held.

  Isabelle tugged on his shirtsleeve. “If I can’t play with Rhapsody paint on me, does that mean I can’t go home?”

  “We’re not taking that chance.” Jonathan felt his heart rate rise as a memory surfaced from a dark, swampy place in his mind. When he was twelve, he’d been fooling around on a frozen river with friends when he’d fallen through broken ice and nearly drowned. For years, he had anxiety attacks whenever he got near water, until a friend showed him how to use pressure points to relax. Gradually, he’d become comfortable enough to go in a pool, but open water where currents could take him by surprise still scared the hell out of him.

  As he stood with his feet rooted to the ground, Isabelle grabbed the drawstring bag and rifled through it.

  “Okay, I’ve got the soap, let’s go. I don’t want to get my skirt wet, so you can take it off.”

  “You touched the soap. Now we have to hurry.”

  “Right, come on, let’s go.”

  He took a step toward her and forced his thoughts away from the drag of the undertow. An anxiety attack could paralyze him.

  “Where is the zipper?” His words sounded disjointed in his ears.

  She spun around and looked over her shoulder at him. “On the side, remember? Hurry.”

  He fumbled with the zipper tab. Waves crashed against the shoreline. Louder now. Tsunami-like waves that were deafening.

  The zipper stuck. He tugged on it, once, twice, three times before realizing it couldn’t go any further down.

  The fire crinkled like a million candy wrappers coming undone. Like the grape candy he’d had in his mouth the day he skidded onto the ice.

  Stop those thoughts. The ocean sounds the same as it always did. Normal.

  Isabelle’s skin was warm and soft. Focus on Isabelle. Naked. He slid his hands inside the waistband of her skirt and over her hipbone so her skirt dropped to the ground.

  Millions of people swam in the ocean. He wasn’t going to meet Jonah’s whale. Muscles tensed in his calves — strong, capable muscles.

  His lungs tightened as he pulled Isabelle against him. Her stance, the feel of her, was tender, receptive, and reassuring.

  Her hands closed over his around her waist. “What’s wrong, Jonathan? I know it’s something. You are strung tighter than a bow.” Her hand stroked up his forearm. “I can feel it. Did you see something? What happened?”

  “No, we’re okay. There’s nothing for you to worry about. The undertow bothers me a bit. I have a little anxiety ever since I was trapped under ice as a kid. I don’t like the water much, but don’t worry, it’s not going to be a problem.”

  She took his hand and laid it between her breasts, her hand over top of his. “Feel my chest, Jonathan. Try breathing with me, nice and slow.”

  “I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

  “I know, but just breathe for thirty seconds. Breathe out all the air in your lungs … slow … every last molecule.”

  Feel Isabelle’s chest? Her reassuring warmth? It wasn’t hard to acquiesce to that. As good as she felt, it still surprised him when he began to feel calm. The rhythm of her slow, deep inhales and exhales rose and fell against his hand, against his body, like a balm to his nerves. No one had thought to do that with him before — not that he’d confessed his fear of the water to every women he’d dated, but it had been easy to talk to Isabelle.

  He dipped his head to lay a kiss on her neck. She smelled of orange blossoms, a scent that invoked comfort although he didn’t spend time wondering why because every time his lips touched her, he came alive.

  “I think I should take your panties off, too.” He brushed his lips against her ear and kissed the hollow behind. “You don’t want to have wet panties, do you?”

  “Too late.” She pushed her hips back against him and pressed against his groin.

  Sweet Mercy. “Yes, baby.”

  “There’s nothing worse than sitting in the sand with wet panties. You better ta
ke them off.”

  Whether she was distracting him on purpose or not, he didn’t care. Isabelle asking him to remove her panties filled every space in his brain while his thoughts zeroed in on her naked derriere. It was anyone’s guess who was more turned on at this point, but it was time to finish this game and get out of there.

  “As you wish.” He had a wish, too. He wished he had the time to drag them slowly down her sexy legs with his teeth, but he wasn’t distracted enough to forget they had a time limit. He slipped his hands inside the back of her panties and pulled them down over her bum cheeks. His cock hardened in his shorts as his hands filled with the sexiest ass he’d ever held.

  Down past her thighs, her knees, her calves, and off the end of her toes. She stood bare-assed and bare-footed. He had no idea when she’d taken her sandals off.

  The only current on his mind now was the one conducting at high voltage between them.

  She slipped something into his hand. “Here, you take the soap, and take my hand. Just concentrate on me, Jonathan.”

  “That’s not a problem. Wait a sec. I’m not going to sit in the sand with wet shorts either.” He shucked off his shorts.

  The soap was on a rope that he slung over his wrist. The beach was black away from the fire, but the dark didn’t bother him much. A wave rolled over his ankles followed by the drag back against him as the water returned to the ocean. Pockets appeared under his feet where the sand had been towed away. He pressed his thumb against the pressure point on his wrist.

  Isabelle grabbed his hand, her grip tight. A crazy mix of strain and anticipation coursed through him. For some reason, seeing her naked from the waist down was more erotic than if they’d been fully naked, even in the dark.

  Isabelle let out a little moan as the water rushed over their feet. “Oh, feel that. It’s so warm.”

  It was warm, like a bathtub. Odd he’d not noticed the temperature earlier. His hip brushed against hers. She had the sexiest silhouette he’d ever seen. His breathing hitched again, but more from her taking his breath away than from fear.