Welcome to MFRW Books Hooks—Halloween edition!
Today I’ve got a quick snippet from “Renfield’s Lament”, one of the stories in my dark paranormal collection Fourth World: Erotic tales of monsters, myths and magic. The book is the perfect combination of sizzling and scary, just right for All Hallow’s Eve.
When you’re done with my post, I hope you’ll visit some of the other authors participating in this week’s Book Hooks blog hop. You’ll find their links below.
Enter the fourth world—a world of lust and shadows, where anything can happen.
Obsessive passion and dark ecstasy mark these seven stories of paranormal desire from eroticist Lisabet Sarai. An undead couple hunts for beauty and youth in the history-drenched streets of Prague. A sex addict meets his fate in the embrace of a seductive monster. An innocent writer offers her body and heart to a century-old ghost. A spiritual seeker succumbs to temptation in the arms of a fearsome and greedy goddess. A kinky, blood-drenched threesome unfolds in a luxurious Bangkok penthouse. These tales conjure the magic of sex, and its dangers. Expect to be unbearably aroused and occasionally terrified. Do not expect happily ever afters.
Do I seem mad to you? If so, they are responsible. They've driven me mad with their beauty and indifference.
They don't even bother to hunt anymore. They spend their days in their king-sized coffin, alabaster limbs entwined in a frozen tableau of passion. They devote their nights to surfing the Internet, listening to Bach or Dvořák, or lounging on their deck, the endless grid of the city sparkling below them.
Except, of course, for the nights when they feed.
Occasionally, on rainy days when there's no risk, I muster the courage to lift the polished rosewood lid of their communal casket and peek inside. I'm always startled by the scent that rises from their inert forms, orange blossoms and sun-warmed stone, no hint of dankness or decay. Their exquisite pallor complements the perfection of their naked bodies. They seem like statues modeled from translucent, milky glass.
He slumbers with one palm cupping her pert breast, the other arm wrapped around her waist. Her honey-brown hair fans over his chest, fine as spider silk. She curls her fist around his manhood, which is rampant even as they sleep. The bold gesture contrasts with her innocent features. She has the smooth cheeks, pointed chin and plump lips of a teenage cheerleader.
My fingers twitch. The urge to trace the shape of that sweet, ripe mouth is almost irresistible. More times than I can count, I've seen those lips distorted by a fiendish grin and those girlish cheeks smeared with gore. It doesn't matter. She will always be my angel, my inspiration, my heart's desire, my doom. My beloved mistress.
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