Hot Spell by Lisabet Sarai
M/F paranormal erotic romance
The flames of passion are more than a metaphor
The city swelters in the grip of an unseasonable heat wave. Sylvie endures her
solitary urban existence for the sake of her career, but the prospect of a
hot, lonely three day weekend proves unbearable and she flees east to the
pine-shrouded mountains. Far more at home in nature than in the city, Sylvie
doesn't mind being alone in the wilderness, but she's not the only being
haunting the glades and the trails.
Aidan is fiercely attracted to the voluptuous beauty he finds sun bathing nude
in a high meadow, but he must resist his overwhelming desire for the sake of
her safety. The sun-bronzed man with the red-gold hair is cursed with power he
knows will destroy her if they give full rein to their passion. Can Sylvie
refrain from tempting him? Or will she risk being being literally consumed by
Her muscles ached from the strenuous hike. Her hair was in knots and a sticky film of perspiration coated her skin. None of that mattered. Peace enfolded her, along with a profound sense of well-being. The breeze whispered to her. The creek babbled and laughed.
Water. A bath. Relaxed, lazy, and sated though she was, the notion still held an irresistible appeal. Sylvie checked the remains of the fire to assure herself that there was no chance it would escape the rocks encircling it. Then she dug a towel out of her pack and headed down the forested slope to the creek.
The gurgle of water tumbling over stone grew louder as she approached. The very sound was refreshing. A few feet from the edge, she stripped off her clothes, draping them and her towel over a convenient boulder. She was about to step out of the woods, when an unexpected movement caught her eye.
There was something splashing in the creek, a bit downstream from where she stood - something, or someone. Sylvie shrank back into the shadow of the trees.
Directly opposite her, the stream rushed over river-polished rocks, flecked with white froth. To her right, though, it widened into a calm pool, black as the sky above. The unexpected noise came from there.
She peered into the night. All she could see at first was a round, furry mass that seemed to float upon the surface. Ripples stirred as a figure rose from water. At the same time, the half moon climbed above the crest of the trees. Its pale rays revealed the form of a naked man.
Sylvie caught her breath. His back was to her, a gleaming, sculpted expanse that swept down to a narrow waist, then flared into taut buttocks. A wet curtain of golden hair clung to his neck and shoulders. He took a step forward, water swirling around his lean thighs. The grace and power revealed by that small motion made Sylvie ache inside. She'd never encountered such beauty in a man.
He turned then, and the ache deepened to an agony of want. Sleek skin stretched over his muscled chest and abdomen, strewn with glittering drops of moonlight. He turned his face to the sky and Sylvie caught a glimpse of features that seemed carved from marble: soaring brow, chiselled jaw, sharp cheekbones, and a broad, resolute mouth. The man's eyes were closed, as if he were praying to the moon.
Then she noticed his hands, clasped below his belly in a firm grip around his erect cock. His luscious penis reared up from a matted tangle at his groin, hard and smooth as the rest of his body. Her nipples snapped into tight peaks as she watched the stranger knead his rampant flesh. Slow and deliberate at first, then with a quickening pace, he stroked from the glistening bulb down to the root. His cock grew longer and fatter as he worked it, hand over hand. His full lips drew back and his brow furrowed as the pressure and the pleasure built. He kept his eyes shut.
Sylvie licked her lips. Dampness painted her inner thighs. Her clit tingled and throbbed, crying out to be touched. Her empty pussy hungered to be filled. In a flash of memory, her dream returned - not the details, just the fevered arousal. Her body was on fire again.
She sank to her knees on the mossy ground and plunged her fingers into her wetness. There was no conscious decision. She simply couldn't help it. Her folds felt slippery and burning hot. She cupped her hand, four fingers deep in her cleft while she rubbed the back of her thumb over her clit. Pleasure shuddered through her. The swollen nub was hard as a pebble, so sensitive that she could scarcely bear to touch it. When she backed off, though, it screamed for more stimulation.
With her other hand, she massaged her breasts, cradling the lovely weight in her palm. She flicked her nipple, striking sparks, then pinched it with all the force she could muster. Her pussy clenched in response. Waves of sensation fanned out from her centre.
A low moan dragged her attention back to the stranger in the stream. With one hand he jerked his cock, fast and rough. The other was hidden behind him, moving in the same jagged rhythm. From his spread thighs and straining muscles, Sylvie guessed he had at least one finger pumping his rear hole. The lewd notion made her own anus twitch and tingle.
He was obviously close to coming. The realization sizzled through her, pushing her to the edge herself. She dug in, mashing her clit against the heel of her hand and rocking back and forth, keeping her eyes on the gorgeous man jacking off barely a dozen feet away.
His biceps corded with tension, his teeth bared in a feral snarl, he clawed his way toward orgasm. Sylvie climbed with him, matching him breath for breath, groan for groan.
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