“I know everything, Deputy,” said the voice as it took a shambling step forward, “And I’m here to explain it to you.”
Moonlight ran up its body and Deputy Jackson Woodard was frozen like a deer in the headlights. The thing stepped free of the darkness and suddenly all Jackson wanted was for it to go back in….way back in.
His face seized tight as muscles readied themselves to wrap around a scream meant to wake the dead. But, the sound was a stillborn thing and all that slipped from between the man’s lips was a thin line of saliva tracking down his chin.
His pupils were blown wide and black. What his father would have called two piss holes in a snow bank.
“That’s right, Jacky boy. The Journeyman has come to tell you a tale about your darling Sara.”
The man did not move, then whimpered in the darkness, “Please, Papa…don’t hurt me….”
The Journeyman laughed at the man upon his knees before him.
“Oh, but I will, Jacky. I will hurt you. Sooooo, tell me…”
The thing set the derby hat upon Jackson’s head, then gave it a light tap to settle it in place.
“…who’s your daddy now?”
***
Sara looked down to the arms that encircled her. Hard, like iron, they held her in a grasp that seemed to promise they would never let go. They spoke of security as her lover bent to take her earlobe between his lips.
He tugged back, then released her before moving lower, along her neckline, searching for more of her to savor.
She slipped her fingers into the grooves of his knuckles, following the hills and valleys of his hand. Her own seemed so small and pale by comparison. With his under hers, her hand looked like that of a child.
Raised veins ran like branches of a tree under her fingertips, and Sara knew that the man who held her was as strong as an oak, as unyielding as steel.
She also knew this because she had seen the fangs lining his mouth as these same powerful hands had become enormous black paws. The beast within him had shown itself in all its indomitable power and was the perfect mirror of the enigmatic man. Possessed of secrets that went far beyond the impossible, this was a man with one foot firmly in the realm of myth and legend.
And it was her that he held in his powerful arms as he bent to gently kiss her bare shoulder.
Sara smiled even though she knew he could not see her. Like giant balls of cotton, white clouds rolled by the rounded window of the bedroom cabin as his personal jet carried them towards another continent. For some reason, they reminded her of cotton candy.
“I like flying,” she said, then sighed as she felt his teeth upon her skin.
“And I like biting,” he replied before returning to her shoulder, nipping along its outline before he shifted his grip and took her hand in his own.
He brought it to his face, then turned her hand so that the palm faced him. Then, he held his lips to the few lines running across its surface, kissing her like a gentleman would a fair lady.
She felt ridiculous, but loved that he did it all the same.
“I want you, Sara.”
They turned to face one another. Fingers interlaced as hungry lips did the same. Warm tongues flickered in a humid dance before they were falling back upon the bed with sweat breaking upon their bodies….
Available now
The Goblin Between Her Thighs
(A Prequel to the Marechal Chronicles)
An army captain with a mysterious scar is torn from the battle front and from his lover in this story of espionage, body thieves and devious eroticism.
The legendary Goblin War rages while Alexandre's own identity slips away from him in his struggle between his forgotten past and the woman who loves him. Action, intrigue, and intense sexuality...all this and more awaits between these pages.
This is an erotic stand-alone story but also a prequel to the events recounted in the ongoing series, The Marechal Chronicles by Aimélie Aames
The Marechal Chronicles: Volumes I, II and III (An Erotic Fantasy Tale)
An erotic, fantasy adventure, this is a romantic tale of magic, emotion, and human motivation that does not turn a blind eye to the frank sexuality of its characters. Within these pages live witches, shapechangers, demons, and immortal beings. Turn the page and let them unveil their dark story in the ambiance of medieval France.
A collection of the first three volumes—
Volume 1, The Path
Melisse dreams of another life, one in which she is no longer the servant to a noble family, one where she can find her own destiny and make her life her own.
On the eve of the arrival of the Marechal de Barristide, an eldritch light in the forest calls out to her, giving her the hope of change to come.
The Marechal, a man marked with a vicious scar, is a man of the law of the realm, charged with investigating a series of horrible crimes to the south. However, he has his own reasons for visiting House Perene. Reasons that drive him to search mercilessly for the truth, no matter the cost.
His search and the fate of Melisse intertwine to form a tapestry of lust, violence, and supernatural implications. All of which resound within a potent and robust story that draws the reader in and does not let go.
Volume 2, The Hunter
The sun rises upon the blood soaked House Perene.
Evil has struck within and without and only the Marechal de Barristide can untangle the threads of fate that wind about him in a web of intrigue and passion.
His way is branded into the very ground before him, but the Marechal must turn his course in order to seek aid from a dreaded soul. Beings from a realm other than earth shall seek his alliance while his quarry, the servant woman, Melisse, has disappeared, leaving only ash and dust behind her. But before taking up her trail once more, the Marechal must submit to another's infernal desires and pay far more than he bargained for.
Volume 3, The Prey
The paths of the Marechal de Barristide and Melisse, runaway servant accused of a grisly murder, narrow to convergence in a seamy quarter of Licharre, a city bordering the Ardoise mountains to the south.
Lust and desire burn all that lies between them as demons rear their ugly heads, twisting their destinies together while powers beyond those of mankind exact their vile desires.
Blood will run before it is over and doom shall fall where it will in this continuing story of supernatural passion and erotic romance.
####
For your reading pleasure, an excerpt from The Marechal Chronicles:
The Marechal had no words with which to respond. His tongue was frozen in place as were his limbs. He found that he could not move even his smallest finger as the old woman hobbled from the room.
The light grew dimmer until he could no longer see the shelves across from him. He saw only that he was alone in the faint glow of a circle and that it now appeared as if the walls had receded with dark nothingness taking their place. Even the faint sounds of the swamp outside the witch's house were gone. The constant drip of water, or the raucous cry of some distant bird, all of it had dwindled to a muffled silence.
The Marechal had begun to wonder if the drink had somehow stoppered his ears when he heard a female voice, low and silky, speak from the surrounding shadows.
"Oh, you lovely man," he heard her say, then saw her emerge from the darkness and into the pool of light surrounding him. First came one long bare leg, the flesh of a marble purity that would have taken his breath away if he had not already been spelled still.
The rest of her followed.
She was dressed in gauzy, transparent black, a sort of robe such as noblewomen wear, except that the hemline was ragged, running in deep zigs and zags that showed the Marechal tantalizing glimpses of firm white skin before being hidden away again as she moved with a delicious languor around him.
Her hair was long, black, and shone like the finest silk, as if she had magicked the glint of fine silver into her color. Her lips were luscious and full, of a red de
ep and profound. The color reminded the Marechal of heart's blood running down the length of his sword, the final beats of his opponent's life felt down to the pommel.
She was carnal, she was feline, dark and light, she was contrast in motion.
Despite his compromised circumstances, the Marechal felt himself respond, his member growing heavy and warm, lengthening as he felt his pulse descend into his crotch.
"What an interesting scar, Marechal," she said. Her finger lingered at his jaw, tracing down to come round to his shirt front where she lightly flicked the buttons.
She leaned in close, letting her lips brush against his ear, and asked breathily, "Do you want me...Marechal?"
He felt his throat unlock with a hitch. He swallowed, then said, "What I do or do not want seems to be irrelevant at the moment. I believe that is the game we are playing, no?"
"Oh, this is no game, Marechal," she replied. "I am deadly serious. My intentions for you have nothing of goodness in them."
"My love for visitors is in their suffering which can be so poignant, so exquisite...so charming."
She stepped away from him and he saw that she carried a cavalier's quirt in her hand. In a long, drawn out motion, she drew her hand back and then swung at him, lashing his chest with what he believed was her fullest strength.
There was a crack and he felt the venomous sting of the lash leap through him. He clenched his jaws around the sound threatening to escape, sweat springing to his brow.
He fought against it, but he could feel that his erection had become enormous, straining against his trousers.
"Do you want me?" she asked again, her voice low as she reached out to toy with the tear in his shirt that the quirt had left behind. Her finger came away red and she licked his blood from it, smiling.
"That taste. It is amazing, Marechal. You really are of a special vintage, aren't you?
"You must make women weak in the knees and loose in the hips with the slightest glance. They take in your muscled shoulders, that broad chest hiding inside your immaculate white shirt. You come to them with thighs of oak and iron and lower yourself down upon them, letting them feel the weight of a real man, a man in his prime, rich, cultured, as you mesmerize them with your gray gaze and long lashes.
"Why I should imagine they are ready to come with just a smile from you, Marechal. Your beautiful smile as yet unstained by time or by wine."
The Marechal said nothing, the lash on his chest pulsing with each beat of his heart. He could feel small runnels of blood leaking down across his abdomen. And, still, he felt that he had become enormously, preposterously aroused.
She walked behind him and with no warning, she struck him again, two vicious cracks echoing in the air. His back felt as though he had just been gored by a bull, the pain so intense that he gasped with the suddenness of it.
He knew she was goading him, but that knowledge did not stop his anger from blossoming into red rage.
With his most mighty effort, he summoned his strength, willing his arms to move. In that moment, as the blood coursed down his back, he wanted this woman's neck in his hands, wanted to see fear in her eyes as he held her life between forefinger and thumb.
He roared like a wild beast, but his arms only twitched loosely, the geas of the spell holding him. He smiled inside, though. A twitch meant that he could weaken the spell's hold, he could work against it, and in time, break free.
"And, you are a fighter, as well, my dear," she said, amused. Something in her tone troubled him.
"But you shall not have the time you require, Marechal."
With a jerk, he felt his trousers undone and then she was pushing at his back. His body obeyed her touch as he was forced to bend over. She slapped the quirt against the inside of his thighs and to his horror, he spread his legs wide.
"Oh, so much better. If only you could see the look on your face," she said as she circled around him, trailing her fingertips upon his back.
Coming to a stop behind him, the Marechal felt the quirt touch lightly at his anus. He tried desperately to tighten, to find some means of stopping what she was about to do, but he was powerless.
There was pressure and then there was pain at the unfamiliar sensation. He felt suddenly very full, deep cramps racking him while he heard her laughing.
"Don't you like that, dear?" she asked as she walked around to his front. He could still feel the quirt where she left it, pushing at his insides.
She pushed lightly at his shoulders, forcing him back up to a standing position and then she took his penis into her hand, pulling and pushing, as the quirt behind him dangled and swung with her movements.
The Marechal groaned. The melange of pain and pleasure. It was not new for him, not after all this time, but to be held powerless in the face of it, a plaything for the whims of another was altogether different and worse than unsettling.
"Calm yourself, Marechal. I can see my toy twitching back there," she chuckled. Then she dropped to her knees before him and enveloped his cock with her lips. The heat of her mouth was intense and she pressed her tongue tightly against him as she worked up and down his shaft.
He wanted to refuse her, to break her hold upon him. Instead, the sensations that he felt overwhelmed him. He could feel the quirt rocking inside, pushing against him with a steady rhythm in time with the motions of the woman as she took him deep into her mouth with full, zealous strokes.
The most profound muscles of his abdomen began to tighten and he could feel himself lifting up, his cock stiffening in its extremity and then in great shuddering breaths, he came into her mouth, his muscles spasming, the sensations arising as much from the flesh holding the quirt in place as from the base of his member, pulsing with the force of his orgasm.
The Marechal strained, heaving and heaving, his muscles rippling in the throes of the moment even as his vision dimmed to near darkness.
Then, she was upon him and he, suddenly flat on his back, could only watch as she sunk down over his cock, her pendulous breasts now bared and her nipples standing out in reddened fury.
"I have never known the pleasure of riding a horse, Marechal," she said while she slid up and down his cock. "But, I imagine it is like this, and that at times, you must show the beast who is master....
Available now
Also by Aimélie Aames:
The Divine Fornication Series (An Erotic Story of Angels, Vampires and Werewolves)
Seduced by an Angel
Episode 1 of the Divine Fornication Series
An erotic, paranormal story:
Claire Sawyer's life is about to change in a way that she never could have imagined.
Blind since a terrible childhood accident, she dies for the second time in her relatively short life only to find herself in the arms of an angelic being.
Is he her guardian angel, or the monster responsible for the death of her parents so many years ago?
Claire will search for her answers as she is swept up into events involving the divine and their relation to the vampires and werewolves that she encounters in her incredible journey to discover the truth.
Taken by the Vampire
Episode 2 of the Divine Fornication series
Claire awakens in a hospital room to find a man sitting quietly, waiting for her.
Except that he is no ordinary man, adorned as he is with dark wings and burning in black flames.
Is it the angel of death, come to take her away at last? Or is he the lord of all vampires, come to steal the prize from his adversary, the Messenger, the being who has healed Claire's blindness?
Flying high above the city lights in his cold arms, Claire shall find herself brought to a lonely fortress where blood drinkers await her and werewolves roam the darkness, all of them waiting for the ravishment to come.
Claimed by the Wolf
Episode 3 of the Divine Fornication series
From certain doom at the hands of vampires, Claire Sawyer finds herself surrounded by hundreds of wolves.
<
br /> Are they her saviors, or the culmination of the doom that follows her at every turn?
Cursed or no, Claire must fight for her survival, even if that means becoming one of them, wolves in heat with just one thing in mind.
Redeemed by the Conqueror
Episode 4 of the Divine Fornication Series
In the stunning conclusion to the four part series, Divine Fornication, Claire Sawyer finds herself caught between vampires, werewolves and angels. Three races of beings willing to battle for the one thing they value most--Claire's eternal soul.
Will Claire's guardian angel return at last, in her final moments? Or, will she be lost forever to eternal damnation?
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A Reluctant Witch in The Land of BDSM: Racked and Ravished Threeway Page 4
