Michele Hauf-Wicked Games 01 by The Highwayman

Author:The Highwayman [Highwayman, The]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-10-10T01:41:28+00:00

Before it lay a sleeping being. It did not discern age or sex. The energy was strong. So strong, it drew the shadow forward.

It glided, dark night-robes of insubstantial shadow slipping across the rumpled white sheets. A hand spread out, its long taloned fingers splayed as it positioned over the sleeping entity’s head. There, where dreams dazzled and reviled. Dreams so delicious and wicked and cruel. It fed upon emotion ensnared by sleep. As the eyelids fluttered with movement beneath, the shadow hitched a ride.

This one smiled in sleep, a cozy slumber. Flickers of another being manifested in the shadow’s preternatural experience. Larger.

Stronger. Shaped differently than the dreamer but of the same species. The being pressed its mouth over the sleeper’s mouth.

A kiss. The shadow knew the ways of mortal sleepers.

Freedom. Green. So clean. Scampering over grass. Not this time, but from time long ago. The images were not in the sleeper’s mind, though.

The shadow marveled at the strange connection to the other being’s dreams. The sleeper was not the one it observed. That being was…itself.

Curious. It had never blended with the dreamer before. It must know this one.

Another look.

Flashes of skin. Fingers dragging along flesh. Groaning bodies. Sweat glistening. Mouths kissing and moving along skin and curves and there, to a hard nipple.

The dreaming being arched her back. The other, dark and intent—him—slipped his fingers between her legs. In exquisite surrender the dreamer cried out.

He, the shadow as human shape, entered the dreamer, hilting himself inside her. He moaned, riding the tremulous promise of orgasm.

They fed one another until they could take no more. Until exquisite release overwhelmed both of them. The shadow experienced the climax with a surprising shudder. Its entire form trembled. And it felt the intensity of orgasm.

What was this? The sensation of climax felt so real as if it had shaken the shadow’s very being. It made it gasp and its form trembled.

Bleeding cowboys.

That thought hadn’t been the shadow’s but the other—itself. It had little control. The nonshadow form would soon take over.

Delicately sinister, the ravishing tremors flickered away.

The shadow relented. Night receded from the white bedclothes. With it, the shadow extracted a minute chord of soul from the sleeper. It was a different sort. Not human.

Seeking the night, it turned and floated across the room toward the tall window it could easily permeate.

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