Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Sariah's back...

And she's pissed off! *wicked grin* I've not posted in awhile, but I thought to pour a little of my particular bitch werewolf venom in here to fill the gnawing void of fresh blood. :)...

The streets passed unnoticed beneath her feet as she mulled the night's events over in her mind. The full moon hung above her, mocking the humanity she clung to with such persistence. Back home, her Den was full of Werewolves and Pinks, the streets were full of lunatics gone crazy in the moonlight, and somewhere in the city, Xander was in full form, probably tearing his way through another girl who would only live if she was lucky.

Sariah managed to work herself into a foul mood by the time her feet set down upon the planking of her porch. Music still belched from the windows, reverberated from the walls. The cacophony poured out as she opened the door, drowning her in its annoying rhythm. She stepped into the foyer, slammed the door shut and clapped her hands over her ears.

"Turn the fucking stereo off!" She roared.

She waited.

She waited too long.

Sariah caged a growl behind her teeth. She hated to be ignored. She waded through the coupled bodies writhing on the floor of the parlor, kicking a stray male who dared to look at her and didn't look away quick enough. She stopped in front of the wall of vibrating electronic devices and punched the 'POWER' button.

The throbbing pulse stopped, the sudden silence occasionally punctuated by moans or growls of those too engrossed in their carnal pursuits to acknowledge her. Sariah's thigh muscle twitched as she forced back the urge to kick the interloping whelp again.

Meghan showed in the doorway, hands curled to fists on the round curve of her hips. A stunted, unpleasant grin twisted her lips as she locked eyes with Sariah. Tension, thick and heavy, boiled up in the silent space between them.

"Rough night?" Meghan mocked.

"Still pissed about before I see," Sariah threw back.

"Well, it takes a while for me to get over some things." Meghan's eyes narrowed, an angry glare pinched between the lids. "But you wouldn't know about that…"

"Shut up, Meghan."

The redhead crossed her arms over her chest. She shifted her weight on her hips. She returned Sariah's heated glare. "And what if I don't--are you going to kick me, too? Beat me like a Pink?"

"Bitch," Sariah huffed as she pushed past Meghan. She'd had enough of her confidante's insolence, and didn't want to continue on with another argument.

"Takes one to make one!" Meghan shot back.

Sariah stopped dead in her tracks. That particular barb always stung her, and Meghan knew it. She used it like a muzzle to clamp the blonde's mouth shut. Sariah stood on the bottom stair, her rancor sluiced from her. She was empty without that anger to cling to. Her amber eyes turned down to her foot on the stair. "Sorry," she breathed, not sure of whether Meghan heard.

"Sometimes I wish you were…"

"Me too."

Sariah climbed the staircase, slumping her shoulders and allowing her jacket to pour from her back. The bottom hem snagged on her extended left hand and a jacket sleeve thumped the edge of each step. She paused at the top, debating on whether or not to turn and say something more to Meghan. But she knew it was of no use, she could sense that Meghan had retreated to the parlor for solace and a cup of hot tea.

What a night, Sariah fumed. I hate full moons!

She turned the knob on her bedroom door and stepped in. The room was blessedly empty. Sariah closed the door behind her with a shove of her foot, and then whipped her jacket into the closet. Hangers clattered, and clothing fell to the floor to be ignored until morning. The Persian rug, woven in ivory tones and accented with blood roses, accepted her kicked off boots, and then she padded barefoot and peeling off clothes as she walked through the room and toward her bathroom.

The white porcelain tiles were cool beneath her feet when Sariah turned on the light, and she sighed. This was her favorite room in the entire house. The room was pristine--whites, blushes and burgundies--despite the number of times she'd washed away the blood from her path of vengeance.

Naked, Sariah stepped into the tub and turned the faucet handles. Hot water soon lapped along the sides, and she settled deep into the tub, her hair floating mermaid-like around her submerged face. She laid there, body unmoving, but her mind buzzing over the night's events, and her life's dark track. Air bubbled in a thin stream out of her nose, her lungs burned with pressure of kept breath. It would be so easy to end it all, just inhale and drown--easy, if she was human.

Occasionally, Sariah had to remind herself that she was no longer human. This was not, however, one of those moments. The locked door and bath water disguised her bitter tears.

The bath water cooled, to the point of discomfort. Sariah climbed from the tub as the chills prickled and climbed her flesh. She pulled the terrycloth robe up her arms, across her nipples and wrapped it tight around her stomach. Moisture wicked from her skin and into thick fabric as she walked back into her bedroom. She loosed the sash and the robe dropped to the floor.

Sariah scanned herself in a VSE, visual surveillance of extremities. The evidence of her Were tendencies was gone, no fur, no claws, no fangs. Gone, too, was the blood which she’d shed this night, no flesh beneath her fingernails, no sanguine stain in the ridges of her fingerprints.
She sighed.

Naked. Human. Or, at least she appeared that way.

She paused a moment, and then ran a fingertip along the curved seams of her quilt. “Double wedding ring pattern,” her grandmother said, so many moons ago. A sudden sob caught in Sariah’s throat. She snuffled back tears. Not just any wedding ring quilt; it was intended as a gift for her wedding, the wedding that never happened. There’s no marrying a corpse. Stephan Colinford was slaughtered the day before their ceremony, and also the day that Xander turned her Were...

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Autumnal offering

In the mood of the season...

The angel breezed by, her wings sparkling and her halo askew. She giggled, a high sweet sound in the deepening twilight. A devil followed close behind, his tail dragging in the gravel, his pitchfork snagged on the angel’s skirts.

Then, their mother walked past. Each engrossed in their pursuit of sweet treats, and all oblivious to me.

I lay beneath a golden maple, upon the carpet of autumn’s splendor. A chill breeze unsettled my costume in its passage. And, the fallen leaves whispered softly beneath my weight--complaining, displeased that my blood stained them scarlet…

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Happy Halloween


I simply could not resist sharing this with the blogverse. Thanks so much to Andrea for sending the pic to me!

Okay, so news...
1.) Sacrilegious has gotten two fab reviews! Check them out:
CTR gives Sacreligious 4 CUPS!!
And below you can see what Just Erotic Romance Reviews had to say:
In Pursuit of Prey
Rating: 5 Stars Heat Level: O
Sekhmet, a feline goddess, has a need. When she forces herself into human form and creates modern clothing for the hunt, she senses her prey and stalks him, seducing him with her body. Her prey is handsome Mace, used to being in control, but now he totally submits himself to her lust.The whole idea behind this book intrigued me. The cover and subject matter made me eager to read this story. From page one I could feel the need Sekhmet had for sexual release and for her mate. This is a very well-written story with characters that were well developed, for such a short story. Sekhmet came to life on the pages. Her personality is one that defines a goddess. You could almost feel the soft feline hair on her body as she brushed past you. Mace is strong and used to being the Dom but in Sekhmet he’s met his match. The sex starts on page one and gets hotter as the story progresses. I truly enjoyed every bit of it! This was more than mere sex; Sekhmet and Mace have a relationship, a commitment to each other that is one forged in love.
From The Sands
Rating: 5 Stars Heat Level: O
At a costume party called “Devil’s Party”, Bianca feels the eyes of a stranger following her. Their movements seem synchronized. She is overcome with desire but it frightens her so much that she runs away. The stranger follows, almost stalking her; however, when she asks him to come to her, he refuses. He is Anubis, the canine-like god of the dead, but what Bianca does not know is that she had been bound to him for all eternity. This story struck me from page one. I could hardly wait to turn the page to see what would happen next. This is one hot story. I may never look at my dog in the same way again. The sexual tension between the two main characters was intense. Bianca showed little self-confidence; she is the perfect mate for strong and dominant Anubis. Anubis is strong and dominating in a canine way. He is in control from the beginning. He’s silent and stalks Bianca in such a way that the sexual tension builds. It was more than sex; it was a relationship that was born out of love and the past. Anubis just oozed sex. The sex was hot! The plot builds up toward the ending and the sexual tension builds to a climax so much so that I joined in. This story left me breathless and throbbing. I felt as though I belonged to Anubis, I became so involved in this story that I kept forgetting that the story was about Bianca and not me. If you enjoy strong dominant men with a bit of canine instinct thrown in, you must read this book.
Divine Intervention
Rating: 3 Stars Heat Level: H
Maxim is a writer but lately he seems unable to write; something is missing in his life. He heads to the “Kat Klub” knowing he has a deadline and that he will not make it. Sesha is Seshat, the goddess of writing. She knows exactly what Maxim needs: passion and it’s just what she plans to deliver. Maxim submits totally to Sesha only to find the pain of lost passion.This is an unusual story. Divine Intervention is a well-written story; however, I didn’t like either of the main characters. I found Maxim annoying but well developed. Sesha is a strong character, one that enjoys dominating her man. She would enjoy knowing a man longs for her to the point of pain and knows he can never truly touch her heart. This was my least favorite of the three. The plot was interesting. The author demonstrated the need for writers to experience what they are writing about. The sex was hot but I found the relationship lacking. There was little commitment on the part of Sesha. Seeing Maxim suffer made me sad. If you don’t like dominating women, pass on this story.
Annie Deb, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

2.) I am frantically scrambling to pull together a worthy submission for my real name's book due out in December. The editor I contacted is interested in seeing what I have--which at current moment isn't quite enough.

3.)Exciting news, the fabulous cover artist Anne Cain will be designing a custom logo for me for a personal website! It will be a combination of an image from a family heirlom and a personal picture, so it will be a semi-realistic portrait of 'yours truly' as a goddess!!

Okay, back to the grindstone...

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Sasha's Suffering

**Because Tempest asked for it...**

Sasha wiped away tears, her fingers leaving swatches of her blood and his powdered flesh across the arch of her cheek. The sanguine pasted liquefied with her tears and trickled down, running across her bottom lip. Absentmindedly, she ran her tongue along her lip, taking in the potent poison of vampire flesh and human pain.

The key of the music box cranked over a turn as she clutched the box tighter to her chest. When she exhaled in a sob, the key turned the box through one chord of the haunting song Raenos had chosen for his bride-to-be. Her heart pounded, hurting in the music box's unnatural rhythm and the ache wrenched a fresh sob from Sasha's throat. She dropped the dagger back to the ashes, and turned the box so that the hinges were away from her. A fouled fingertip ran along the gilded edge, and then she pried the box open. The fixative fumes rushed through her nose, heavy with the iron scent of her lover's last blood. Sasha coughed, the acrid scent burning her nose, and then she dropped the box as well.

She knelt there, amidst his strewn ashes. Her raw wounds soaked in his dusted remains, her throat coated with a mix of his flesh and her tears, her heart now nothing more than an aching organ playing a forced, foreign tune.

A sick numbness settled into Sasha's body. The chill grip of death coiled tighter around her, squeezing the air from her lungs and tears from her eyes. And, when she thought she could ache no more, she twisted the music box's key again to allow the tune to torment her soul. If she was to die by his bite, poisoned by his ashen flesh, then she meant to die listening to the song he chose for her. Sasha wished to slip into the darkness, riding his tune into an eternity of death immersed in his rhythm.

Her body pitched backward, limbs jerking violently in the throes of death. Her lungs seized, her jaw fell open and then her joints locked, yet Sasha's heart pounded in that savage cadence. Her mind throbbed with the rhythm. Her tears, mingled with his toxic dust, dripped between her lips and soaked through the back of her throat.

Everything ceased and the music box's tune was her only perception...

**Tempset Darling, do you realize that there is an entire short story on Sasha in the back of my book Sacreligious? Small price, great story(ies) *wink*... Click here.**

Saturday, September 16, 2006


**This follows after The First Movement: Raenos's Regret, where Raenos ends his life believing that he has killed the only woman he ever loved. Sasha, his lover, survives his bite, and wakes...**

Death lay upon her like a languished lover.

The warmth of his body, the warmth of her blood was gone. Consciousness came and went. Chills swept her body, but her skin no longer held the ability to respond. Her heart scarcely beat, and pumped only ache in a slow dance through inert veins. Breathing took all of her will. Speech would not yield itself, nor would her eyes open to the drama which swept the stage of her hearing.

Sasha was alone, and in torment.

She heard his hymn, she knew his plans. And she was unable to stop him. Raenos was doubly guilty, of his suicide and her inability to prevent it. For though she suffered, lingering near death, she loved him still, no matter his sins. She would have offered her throat had he not taken it; she would have surrendered the sun to live in the shadows with him. But, when he drove that dagger into his own chest, he cut out her heart as well.

His fall was hers.

Raenos had cried out his remorse and fallen silent. A tear slipped down her cheek that she could not wipe away. It trailed down her chin, to mingle in the single track of blood across her neck. Sasha surrendered to the encroaching darkness. She sighed, and fell into the arms of black sleep.

But, her rest was not eternal, as she had hoped.

Hours later, the chill of evening crept through the window and woke her with its icy touch. She shivered, the frigid temperature seeping into the marrow of her bones, shuddering through her limbs. Sasha rolled onto her side, groaning against the pain wracking her. The room spun before her glazed eyes and then righted itself with a sickening lurch. Her stomach convulsed, regurgitating spent acid and clotted blood that had drained into her stomach from Raenos's last kiss. She lay, head hanging only inches above the fetid mess on the floor, the true weight of his attack levied upon her with the sight of her own blood.

Her lover was a vampire. In their passion and his savage hunger, Raenos had lost control of the beast in his blood, riding hard between her thighs as he sank his fangs deep in her throat. His primal instincts drove pain and pleasure through her in rhythmic time as he took her toward climax and death in one.

Bliss burned through her, flooding in waves from her core even as he pulled on the last of her life essence. She gasped once, and her eyes fell closed. Raenos had released her then, his canines, hot as branding irons, ripped out of her flesh. A low moan escaped him as he looked at her pale face, and the thin line of blood which trailed across her flesh. He lifted her head, kissing her lax lips, allowing the metallic spill of her own blood to drain into her gut.

Raenos had stumbled backward, then, tearing at his hair and screaming. He could not forgive himself for his sin; his heart broke with a near audible snap, and, void of emotion as he turned toward his workbench.

Now, he was gone, missing from her side, missing from their bedchamber--missing, she was afraid, from life itself. Sasha refused to believe him dead. She dragged her body off from the bed to fall with a sick thud to the hard floor. The evidence of Raenos's self-afflicted wounds lay in thick pool on the floor, and led in a crimson trail out of the room. Trembling, Sasha followed his path through the hallway, tumbled in a loose mess down the stairs to and came to a stop at the bottom. His blood slick lay atop the fibers of the Persian rug she'd once chose to grace the foyer. Sasha clawed her way across the fibers, over the threshold and out into the shadows of evening.

The truth lay before her.

A scorched ring of black encircled ashes piled in the shape of a man. Sobs wracked Sasha's body, but died in her parched throat. Bringing tears hurt, the moisture stung her dry eyes, yet she cried. She crawled toward the evidence of his demise, her knees rubbed raw, her fingernails broke off, her raw flesh leaving ghosts of red behind as she crawled.

She knelt where his head should be, touching the dust which was once the black waves she loved to run her fingers through. Tears fell freely as his ashes packed her raw wounds. Weak from blood loss and exertion, Sasha dragged her legs beneath her, forced her body into a kneeling position as she pulled her betrothal gift from atop the mound of ashes. She recognized its shape, she had lain and watched Raenos carving it. She stroked its gilded surface with an ash-and-blood fingertip before tucking it into the crook of an elbow as she rescued her lover's dagger from his remains as well.

A spark of light caught her eye. She leaned forward, sifting her hands through her lover's remains until she retrieved Raenos's signet ring. The bauble, an heirloom passed through his family for generations, rested on her palm. A band of warm yellow gold, with a large squared field of red enamel beneath the coiled, black form of a carved onyx dragon. She slipped the ring over the knuckle on the middle finger of her life hand, binding herself to him with what was left of her life.

It was her ring now, his legacy now her burden to bear...

(Copyright, Savannah Jordan 2006)

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Concert to close Summer

**WARNING: Gratuitous bitching will ensue**

Yeah. It was supposed to the concert event to close out the Summer (a season I am VERY happy to see end). Well, it started raining the damn day before and didn't stop. And, cold rain, too, the kind of damp cold shyt that is not good for my arthritis.

We decided to go, regardless of the weather, $40 is a lot to choke down. Raingear was dragged out, turtle neck and sweatshirts donned, along with jeans and sneakers. I felt like a kid going to school. Hell, my girlfriend Weezer even wore a yellow slicker! Cute on her, too, but she looked like the Unibomber minus the aviatar sunglasses and facial hair. Abby was bundled in blue. Me?? One of those trashbag looking ponchos--oh yeah, loved that look...

Well, we were stuck parking way the fuck out in the feild on the far side of the fair. We walked through the feild, down the hill and into the fairgrounds. Dozens of other people were wearing trashbag ponchos, so at least I didn't feel like a complete fashion accident on feet. We wondered the lanes of Carnies calling for us to play their games--poor bastards looked pretty dismal sitting there like Mother Nature had handed them their own asses. Needless to say, we ladies were above that, so we moved on. We ended up finding a food vendor who had loaded baked potatoes, so we had some hot, somewhat-wholesome food before walking into the track/venue for the Nickelback/Hoobastank/Chevelle/Hinder concert.

The pisser is, Hinder fucking backed out!! Yeah, the one band we all wanted to see other than Nickelback. I hope that band is making good money somewhere else, because I know they pissed off a lot of Michigan rednecks that night!

The race track looked like a mud pit from Hell, a good damned inch of slippery, sloppy muck sucking at your shoes with every step. Lovely. I don't know if I've ever laid it out here, but I HATE dirt. The entire place was dirt. Ew! We walked from vendor booths at one end of the mudfuckingpit to the other, and Abby finally settled on a Nickelback cap. We slopped our way across the mudfuckingpit to the grandstand seating, such as it was, and we managed to stay dry through Chevelle. Not a bad band, especially for not recognizing anything they played. Well, okay, one or two songs of their songs had a ghost of familiarity.

Then, oh yippee fucking skippee, an usher comes up and tells us we are sitting in assigned seating and that we needed to move. We already knew that. It was just a matter of time before we descended the stairs into Hellmuthafuckingmudpit.

Hoobastank--who choose that name??--was okay, I guess. Not as good as the other band that I didn't know, but hey, it was raining, so what the hell, let's stand through mediocrity while waiting for Nickelback.

FINALLY, Nickelback took the stage. It would have been an awesome moment, seeing as the rain had actually stopped, and the tremors in my thigh had ceased as well. Nope. No way. Not happening. We were accosted with the mating calls of inebriated Squealing ColorGuard Bitches. The moment light swathed Chad Kroeger, the teeny weeny teeny boppers started screeching like bitches in heat. "OMG! He's so fucking hot!" Followed by three rabid magpie others. "OMG!! HE'S SO FUCKING HOT!!" Over and over and over again.

No shit. We all know that he's hot, so does he. He also can't hear a damn thing you're caterwauling in my ear!!! Everything fiber of my being screamed to turn and throttle the Squealers, but last time I checked, infanticide was illeagal. "Shut the fuck up," kept dancing on my lips. I resisted the urge to drive their faces into the quagmire we were all standing in.

Other than that, Nickelback rocked ass. They are one of my favorite bands, and once the flock of Squealers took flight, my girlfriends and I enjoyed the show. They didn't play Follow You Home (my favorite), but every other song was awesome. The best tune of the night, for me, was Savin Me--I love that song--followed closely by Figured You Out.

Oh, and Weezer introduced me to a new tune--big fun!--on the way. Cory Lee's title, The Naughty Song. If you don't have it, and you like that naughty, slink-across-the-floor kind of music, go get it! (My friends out there know my email, so if y'all want it, let me know and I'll email ya the file)

So, in summation, the concert season was awesome, but Summer can get the fuck out. Come on Fall!!

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Pissed pussycat

Okay, now I love animals, especially cats, but this video clip had me laughing my ass off...


Thursday, August 17, 2006


Okay, I know it's been a while since I posted something excerpt-ish, so for anyone interested in reading, here's a bit from my upcoming Aphrodite's Apples collection title Primal Requiem.
The First Movement:
Raenos's Regret

Knuckles dripped red. Lamplight flashed from a blade, and his dark irises. Heat built, behind him in the fireplace and within. The rhythm pulsed in his ears, his heart, his soul. Sweat stung his eyes. He pushed back wavy, jet hair and wiped the sweat away, leaving behind a blood-and-sawdust smear. He turned the hand-carved box, examined his craftsmanship--it was nearly done. The tool slipped, its honed edge cutting deep into his hand. His palm now bled, too, the sanguine stain soaking into the raw wood. He smiled, pristine white fangs exposed beneath his lips.
Raenos bled, and it was good.
The blood fell, fat drop by fat drop, to sizzle and steam on the surface as it soaked into the fibers. He watched that poison pour from his vein, and allowed its memories to flood him.
He could see that fire, so very long ago, and the villagers circling it. Lilitu appeared from the shadows, clothed like a goddess and dancing like sin. She was a succubus, beautiful and bewitching, and he felt certain she would be the death of him. He was right--she took his blood, took his life and made him Upyr. She was, however, only a piece to his pained puzzle; she was a dark angel with a darker gift. He eagerly plunged into the fresh passions flowing in his veins, the next few hundred years became a bloody blur, until he found a soul that could touch his again.
Only this time she was human and he was the killer.
She was stunning, sassy yet sophisticated--Sasha warmed his bed, and his heart. Their steamy nights gave rise to new passions within him and he grew to love her deeply. Yet, now she lay upon his bed, her fiery red hair in stark juxtaposition to her pale white countenance. Crimson trailed across her throat like a choker necklace, but he knew better. That red line was her life essence, the spillover from what he had so greedily stolen. If she could wake, she had only death to look forward to. If she did not wake, he hoped her death dreams were not of him, her lover gone mad with blood lust.
Raenos heart pounded its primal rhythm, an echoed back-beat of pain. He had loved her too much--in his fervor, he had loved her to death. He turned back to his work, what was meant to be a betrothal gift for Sasha. His shoulders sank, a tear fell to thin the coating of blood. He stowed away his carving tools, cleared the workbench of clutter and then brought out sheets of gold leaf and paints. Raenos worked with a delicate touch, pressing the gold leaf deep into the detailed carving. His heart pounded in that condemned cadence, pushing hurt and loss through his veins, yet he kept a steady hand as he stroked the paint across the surface.
The box glistened, a beautiful receptacle for the powerful emotions he poured into it. His slit wrist dripped, pumping blood in rhythm with his vampire heart and that blood soaking into the unfinished interior.
Impatience exuded from him, metered out in his pacing as he watch the moon's path--the night was almost over. The paint was still tacky when he picked it up again, but the gold-leafed edges were solid and safe. He used them to brace the box as he fixed the felt lining down. The glue mixed with the iron scent of his blood, giving off a dizzying fume. He sat in his chair only a moment before resuming his pacing. The moon's lip kissed the edge of the tree tops when Raenos took up the music mechanism and the blade.
"Libera me, Domine, de morte æterna, in die illa tremenda, quando coeli movendi sunt et terra," he whispered. "Dum veneris judicare sæculum per ignem."
Then he repeated his personal requiem in Sasha's language, so that she could hear his liturgy if life remained in her. "Free me from eternal death upon that terrible day," He sobbed, wiped away fresh tears and then finished the refrain, "when thou comest to judge the world with fire."
Then, Raenos plunged the blade deep into his chest, cleaving the cavity's surface. The misguided blade severed vessels and pierced a lung, the air wheezing through the ragged cut as he struggled.
"Libera me, Domine, de morte æterna."
Blood trickled from his mouth when he spoke, but then gushed when he drove the blade home. The sharpened edge cut deep into the pumping muscle, that organ which ever played his eternal tune of torment. The immortal rhythm faltered. Blood deluged the box which he clutched to his chest with one arm. With the other arm, he twisted the buried blade.
"Dum veneris judicare sæculum per ignem."
Raenos stowed the dagger in a sheath at his waist and sank to his knees. He placed the box upon the floor, fished the musical mechanism from the sanguine spill within. Tears fell as he poured off the excess blood from its depths; he cared not to encapsulate his sanguine shame, only the last of his life blood would be kept. Fingers faltered as he removed the key then, he nestled the music box in the corner, and reinserted the key from the outside.
**copyright 2006, Savannah Jordan**

Wednesday, August 16, 2006


The contest to 'Get Sacrilegious' has come to a close, and with the help of my daughter, two names have been drawn.

*drum roll please*

"And the winners are:" Jude Mason, and Michelle Bauer!!

The winners email addresses have been forwarded to my publisher, and Aphrodite's Apples will be contacting them with the passwords and info to download their free copy of Sacrilegious.

Congratulations to the winners, and thanks to everyone who entered!

Bright Blessings!

Wednesday, August 09, 2006



Okay, Everybody, I've thought about this one for a while now. It's time for a promo, time for a contest, time to giveaway a copy of the e-book! But, of course, being 'me,' I can't make it easy on ya. MUAhahaha

So, here's the rub: answer three questions about the deities of Sacrilegious, email your answers to me, and the one who answers them all correctly will win. In the event of a tie for number of correct answers, I will draw names.

You have one week. Next Wednesday I will contact the winner.

Here are your questions:

  1. Anubis, jackal-headed god of the dead, has another name that begins with 'A,' and has only four letters--what is it?
  2. Sekhmet, goddess of sexual heat and vengeance, is also known as 'The Eye of" whom?
  3. Seshat, goddess of writing and numbers, is often depicted wearing the pelt of which animal?

And the email to send the answers to is:


Good luck!

Wednesday, August 02, 2006


My regular visitors here might notice the difference. Might not. But, I sure do, and I have to give a great big thanks to my good friend Candice Gilmer for dressing up my bog. I am no tech diva, and the changes made here were made by Candice. And, on top of being tech savvy and a good friend, she's also a great writer! If you're into sci-fi, or romance, or just a good read, go check out Candice's title Unified Souls, available in e-book from Aphrodite's Apples Press.


Thursday, July 27, 2006


Explore the decadent couplings of Egyptian deities and their mortal consorts.
Savor the sensuality of their intense passions.
Sacrifice yourself on the altar of the gods…

That's right! I am back on the blogs and my book has been released. Check out Sacrilegious at the launch of Aphrodite's Apples Press. And while you're there, shop around, the other gals have some great reading just waiting for you!

Oh, and make sure to check out my photographer's website www.volkstudio.com He's a brilliant guy, and I highly recommend working with him if you ever need a professional photographer. And, his model Lorraine is just gorgeous. :)

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Gorram Mosh Pit!!!!

Yeah, you read that right. Wasn't intended. Believe me. The lead singer of Shinedown had the thousand-plus crowd part the ways like Moses and the Red Sea. Then he said, "Now that you know what it's like to be separated, I want you to come together and share you energies in a tornado of..." I couldn't hear a gorram thing past that for the rushing tide of flesh and the wails of the trampled. Thousand-plus people churning, bumping, thumping, pushing, pulling, tugging, crying and swearing. A damn MADHOUSE!! And, I did not come out unscathed. That's right. Thanks to, well, 'opposing f-ig forces' I have a severe strain in the tendons of my left elbow.

Yeah, fun....

Quote from #1 Reader... "Yee and might I say Ha."

Good thing the music was rocked.

Friday, June 30, 2006


Yeah, I know, lots of links lately, but DAMN I am SO there!!!!


Monday, June 26, 2006

Give and take

Give and take
neglecting you
hurting me
the wrist aches
the blade bleeds
cut it out
cutting me
forgiving you
forgetting me
the precipice beckons
the feet betray
step over the edge
stand alone
telling you
listening to me
no quarter given
none deserved
give and take
of hurting you
hurting me
no me left
tears took it all
hurting you
killing me

Monday, June 19, 2006


Supreme awesome ass linkage!! The DH sent me this link.
OMG it's so much fuckin fun!! Do not follow unless you want to waste a LOT of time... *sigh*

My two favorites, so far at least are,
BLUE MURDER's Jelly Roll
(massive botty shakin' going on!)

BULLET BOYS' Smooth up in ya (of course!)
(Smooth up in ya... enough said)

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

MUAhahahahaha Remember that if you ever see me live. Like Kat says in Ten Things I Hate About You, "I'm Scary."

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Whipping cookies

No, I am not baking. My brain is whipping cookies in my skull. Round and round and round. Edits, writing, edits, writing... Oh, and Hey! For fun let's throw in working up a submission to DH Press with whom I made contact through a pilfered picture.

I've finished the Sacrilegious stories, except for a the afore mentioned edits and a scene fluffage or two. I still have the novel to finish rewriting for Samhain. And all I want to do is bury my head in my bitch Sariah. The vampires are rising up through my author guts, too, though. I can feel their particular poison spread in pulses of dark seduction through my veins. *sigh* Sanguinary shadows...

BTW, for any of you wondering, I found out who painted my avatar pic. Her name is Victoria Frances, and she is super talented!! The editor from DH Press sent me her first graphic novel, Favole, Stone Tears. You can find products with her artwork on it on www.darkhorse.com The picture I have been using is named Libera Me. And, if it wasn't for that picture, I most likely would not be in contact like I have been with the senior editor at DH Press. So, in a round about way... Thank you, Victoria!

Okay, now how about an excerpt for y'all?? This will be about mid way through HUNTED:

Sariah was not dressed for killing. Her low rise demins clung to her ass and showed off the crystal in her navel and those on the back of her thong. Her blouse, if you could call it that, covered her breasts but barely and cascaded in filmy gauze down her arms. Her choker was tight, black, with a bloody red pendant hanging at her throat. She wore nothing else. There was no need. She ruled here. This was her turf, her territory.

The lights throbbed, the speakers bled rhythm. The recirculated air blew sex, smoke and arrogance. Yet, still she could smell him. His pompous depravity accosted her sinuses.

"That bastard is here somewhere," she snarled under her breath. Meghan stopped dead in her tracks. "Keep moving," Sariah barked. "He doesn't need to know that we are aware of him. Better that he doesn't know. Better for us. Better for me…"

It would end this night, Sariah would see to it. She was going to find Xander and she was going to rip his heart out, like he had done to her.

**It's good to be back**

Monday, May 22, 2006

Book Expo America

Holy crap, Jordanites! That was one helluva ride. Never, never have I seen so many books and so many people in my friggin life! That convention center's lower level could have easily contained the downtown district of my entire town! No. Seriously. That place is HUGE. Big enough to have it's own newspaper of the convention's events, and have maps all over to find the thousands of exhibitors.

I made some great contacts, too, buzzed up some interest in my work. There won't be names dropped here in the blog, but I can put out some links to webby's of those people I spoke to for various projects:
M PRESS/DH PRESS (senior editor)
Wizards fo the Coast (Brand Director)
The RGU Group (Pub and Marketing manager asked to see my children's story and stuffie!)
Llewelyn Worldwide (not sure of her position but, damn, she was a sweatheart! They are interested in looking at a proposal for a non-fic project title Soul Deep, about soul's connections)
New Page Books (Michael somebody, don't remember his title. He's also interested in the the non-fic title)

They are others that we spoke with, but the one's listed above showed interest in me and my work. So WOO HOO!!!

Funny thing is, the guy from M PRESS/DH PRESS, I had no idea how big of a person he is with the imprint or in the parent company (because it's an imprint of a f*cking huge comic book house). I was just normal ole sassy me. I stopped to admire a cover, and he stepped up and asked, "Are you a Vampire D reader?" I replied, "No, I'm a vampire writer." From there, he started asking pointed questions, like "time period" to which I replied, "Ancient Egypt to Celtic Ireland, to the Burning Times to modern day for my vampires, modern day for my Were's, because I figure why limit yourself?" The rest were answered in a similar rather SavannahSass manner. He ended up smiling, handing me his card and telling me to get in touch with him.

The lady we spoke with at WOC was nice. My agent gave her a quick run down of Dark, and then she said, "Savannah (named changed for obvious reasons) can tell you about her Werewolf." Oy! So, I start laying out the concept for Sariah and she's loving it. She says they are looking for manuscripts like that. So, is Savannah-style I say, "Would you like to look at one more?" And I whip out my only copy of the printed proposal. She took it and my b'ness cards, too!

The gal from Llewellyn gave me a set of tarot cards (major arcana). They are goregeous! And I got a major buttload of freebies and ARCs. Although I didn't pick up anything in my own genre; pagan stuff mostly and some things for my kids. One or two ARC's for me, and a whole bunch of catalogs. Oh, and the guy from DH PRESS sent me home with a awesome 'coffin' of artwork from their artist.

And, the Anubis story was finished on the airplane on the way home. Now I just need to type it in and then *ahem* get on with the guy's POV story. Heeehehehehe Basically that means I will still be kind of quiet for the rest of the week.

Missed y'all madly!!

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

The last victim lay, crushed and eviscerated, beneath her second floor balcony. A red trail led up her trellis. Shed fur and nails clumped upon her chamber floor. She sat, quill to parchment. Blood dripped from her jaws to stain the paper and foul the feathers pinched in her fingers as she wrote:

I Would Cease…

I would that this renegade heart
Cease within my breast
That I might be free of its permanent pain

I would that this severed soul
Cease its tattered bleeding
That I might be free of this venom not my own

I would that I not be this beast,
Cease to be that, which I most despise,
That I might not suffer such sanguine savagery

I would that I had died when he left me,
Cease in my quest for life
For in the blessed death of sleep I would be free

I would live this life no more
Cease the slaughter I embraced
For alive, alone, my heart howls in silence

I would cease…

~by Sariah DuShayne, upon the hundredth full moon

Thursday, April 20, 2006

UPDATE: "just a quickie"


Nearly halfway there! I am SO totally fried. I wrangled out 20 pages of rewrites yesterday!! My brain is banging a wicked tattoo in its case, my eyes ache and my ears are ringing from compulsive Hinder pumping through them. Ahhhh, the life of a published (soon to be) writer. :)

Fantasy is a force to be reckoned with in comparison to my usual erotica. I would so much rather play in the in the sanguine shadows of dark desires...

Somewhat hollow
fingers aching from the strain
eyes closed on reality
brain numbed by the pain
blood running
down my flesh and my throat
another victim fallen
I pick myself up and move on

Saturday, April 15, 2006

One last Sariah post...

**Okay, I lied. I am gonna post one more thing... Another Sariah post. She's been insistent throughout, and I cannot easily turn away. But, I can attempt to tame my Bitch...**

This piece follows after my post Catty Continuation: Sariah's true mate, directly after the lionen Were/Sariah love scene...

The moment of bliss was brief.

He collapsed beside her, the graceful feline form flowing from him. He was the same man; same body, same ruddy brown hair and cocoa eyes. His face was as beautiful as the night of Xander's attack. Yet now it was haunted, melancholy; guilty even. He reached out to touch her cheek but stopped, the warmth of his flesh whispering against her skin. A tear slipped down his own. His bottom lip trembled.

"Sariah," he whispered. He tried to speak more, but a sob caught in his throat. Then, he did the unthinkable. He pulled away from her. He sat in an awkward cross-legged position, covering the part of him with which he had touched inside her.

"Stuart, what are you doing?"

"I… I'm sorry, Sariah. It's not what I am doing, but what I should not have done. I should not have come back. I should have never allowed you to love me... again… never allowed you to cloud my heart."
Sick shock settled into Sariah. His words hurt worse than any physical injury; they cut deep, tearing at her broken heart. She was struck silent, unable to retort, unable to speak. She rose up onto her knees, beseeching him with her posture. She reached for him, and he inched back, allowing only the barest tip of her finger to touch his skin. Tears bled from her eyes. Her heart convulsed in pain unknown. She was losing him. "Stuart?" she murmured. "I don't understand how you can do this to me. Why did you even touch me, touch my heart again? Please… come here."

"I cannot." Dark loss rang in his voice. "I don't know… I couldn't help myself, Sariah, but I do not want to love you again – still. It hurts too much, Sariah."

"But, we are free to be together now. Xander's gone, I saw to that."

Stuart actually flinched. "I know – I watched you exact your vengeance on him. Slaughter solves nothing, Sariah. I cannot come back to you knowing how many lives, how many men you've destroyed in your quest for vengeance. Knowing what you've become, I cannot give my love, my heart and soul, to you."

Anger trickled in to taint her shock.

Her teeth ached to sink into something, to gnash out her pain. Breath came and in went in hurried, hurtful gasps. Her hands balled up into hard, horrid fists. "You cannot give your love to me?" She sniffed. "You have been alive and had my heart all this time. I never wanted it back, nor do I now. Even if you don't want it, you can keep it. A heart is no good to me broken."

An uncontrolled sob stole its way from her throat. Sariah covered her trembling lips with a hand gone cold. She felt suddenly very naked and ashamed. If she could have taken those words back, she would have. But his words still cut into her. She crossed her arms over her bare breasts and turned from Stuart. She tilted her head down, her hair cascaded forward to curtain her emotional breakdown. Hot tears of heartache streamed down her cheeks.

She did not hear him leave over her own keening. Her only true love crashed back into her life, filled the emptiness in her soul; and as suddenly, with a few words he ripped that away. Her heart, which she had shored up with righteous rage, was dying away within her. She knew nothing but ache, breathed nothing but loss.

Sariah tipped her head back and loosed a howl if ringing pain...

**Now that I've poured that pain out, I am going to turn my mind to Fantasy... Ciao.**

Friday, April 14, 2006


Hunting-tip arrow
Breeches the heart,
Defunct meat brings only
Carrion. Am I dead?

Hanging in the balance
(be not too panglossian)
a word suffices to incline the scales to

Where’s the rug??
In your hands, don’t

The bird twitters in her glided cage,
But she cries when the door is opened.


Indian gift, indian giver?

Am I to smile??

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

The Bitch is back... (Sariah snippet)

**Yes, Everyone, your favourite werewolf bitch is back in the posts. All I have to say, as the author, is when in sour mood, kill something...**

Sariah dove into black maw of the shop's damaged door.

She rolled, shoulder-spine-hip and up onto her feet. She sidestepped the light pouring through the open frame and cast about for a closet, a cupboard; anything which might contain clothing. There in the corner of the cluttered, dingy backroom stood a small row of lockers.

Padlocks reflected flashlights outside the building as Sariah axe kicked one of the locks off. She wrenched the door open and ransacked the locker.

Hands full of durable twill and denim, she ran for the bathroom. She slammed the door, and forced the bolt into the lock. Sariah trained her ear to the door, listening for others in the shop as she pulled the stiff clothes over her sensitive skin. The denims slipped off from her hips, and the collar and sleeves of the shirt gave her a bedraggled look. The collar brushed her chin. Cheap spicy odor wafted up her nose. She gagged.

"What the hell kind of cologne is this?" She snorted.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and struggled to hold her breath as she stood in the locked, darkened bathroom. She heard footsteps outside the door. The door knob jiggled. The door rattled behind a banging fist.

"Damn thing is locked!" Someone cursed.

No shit, Idiot! Sariah snorted to herself; then suffocated on the stench her snort brought in. She huffed for breath, her hand still over her mouth.

Again, the door rattled. The same man swore.

"There's got to be keys somewhere," his companion said. "Start looking!" The second speaker seemed more level headed. Too bad he was a male.

Sariah's acute hearing took in their departure. She cranked the lock open, shoved the door and ran down the two patrolmen. She caught up the first before he could turn to face her. Her hands smashed against his temples, her arms wrenched viciously, and his neck broke between the first and second vertebrae without so much as a whimper. Her eyes flashed like an animal's as the remaining man aimed his flashlight at her.

She could see him, quivering where he stood, holding the flashlight in shaking hands. Controlled change was useful, and fairly painless. It was time to play…

She snapped her hands out, her Were claws ripping through the tips of her fingers. Her jaw elongated, drool dripped from between her fangs.

"Little pig, little pig," she mocked the officer, "Let me in!"

He squealed in fright, dropped his flashlight in favor of his gun. Sariah charged. The muzzle came up, pointed high and to the right. The hammer came down. A bullet ripped through her shoulder, the force knocked her back to her feet.

No silver.

She laughed only, and then lunged.

He brought up a knee toward her midsection and Sariah cut through the thigh muscle down to the femur. He yowled in pain and yet still fought to use his nightstick as her jaws settled into his shoulder. One good wrench of her neck and his struggle for the club was over; the shoulder separated from the socket. He threw his good arm up, but it was scant defense against this woman scorned. She raked at him with her elongated claws, snapped at him with her Were jaws – a side swipe across his stomach, upper cut to his jaw, and then silence.

His body crumpled as it followed his spilled innards on their outward path to the floor.

A fourth man fell beneath her that night – bloodied, ravaged, disemboweled – just like she liked them. She stood, focused her mind and forced her hands and face back to normal. Sariah smiled. Her stolen clothes remained clean. She squatted down, scooped up her last victim's arm, using the sleeve to wipe the sanguinary slop from her fingers and mouth.

"Stupid ass men," she spat. "You should have stayed out of my way."

Monday, April 10, 2006

Shattered Dreams...

Was it
nothing but
"silver-tounged tenderness?"


Was it only
sugar-coated words, and
honey-dipped tounges?

Or, the

It was prevarication,

twice again,
once again,
over again,

thought once
disregarded thrice
overlooked twice

Only stained memories,
shattered dreams, and deceit.

Friday, April 07, 2006

UFC Ultimate Fight Night

**Self indulgent post of a different sort. If you don't follow MMA/Ultimate Fighting, you might want to go away and come back tomorrow**

I don't know why they called it "Ultimate Fight Night." Maybe Ultimate Clinch Night. No bombs dropped, no submissions, no knock outs. I'm glad I didn't waste a beer on this one.

  • Chris Leben had a match with Luigi Somebody-Italian. Chris is supposed to be this kick-ass, take-names fighter. Well, not last night. I was disappointed at the lack of action. Chris won it be decision.
  • Joe Stevenson fought Josh Neer. I expected Joe to win. He had such a strong showing in the second season of Ultimate Fighter, he beat one of my favorites. Call him Mr. Submissive, I guess, because he tried more submission moves than I've ever seen in a fight. Neer dropped elbows, land a few hits, and won it by decision. (The blood on Joe might have been the deciding factor, bright red in dyed blonde.)
  • Rashad Evans (MI native) won against a bigger guy, with better reach. But, again, not much action, more clinch. Rashad would shoot, take his opponent down, get him half guard and do nothing with it. Maybe Rashad won because he has better conditioning in his abdominals...
  • Keith Jardine and Stephen Bonnar was the best fight by far. Still a lot more dancing than I would prefer (in a ring!), but at least they made the fight worth watching. Jardine unloaded leg kick after leg kick, effectively taking BigMouth Bonnar down a notch or two. Jardine pressed the fight, landed more punches. He should have won. SHOULD HAVE. F*cking Bonnar won it be decision. Dammit. I think that was all a popularity contest.

The first episode of The Ultimate Fighter 3 was a great way to end the night. The new stable of fighters has promise. Although I am eager to see the redhead on Shamrock's team get his mouth shut for him. I hate ego. We've seen that the more smack a fighter usually talks, the less they do to back it up. They've mixed things up this season, adding Canadians and two shaved-head Britons to the mix. (Funny, with the Brits, they have subtitles running, like the average American won't be able to understand them.) Also, there's no 'challenges' this season to see who wins the right to pick the fights. That goes by coin toss, and who wins the fight chooses the next. There's new coaches, too. Tito Ortiz and Ken Shamrock. They hate each other. It's awesome!!

Although, honestly, I never liked Shamrock either. I think he's a pretentious bastard. I like Ortiz so much better. Ortiz might be more cocky, but he backs it up. And, Ortiz is a better coach, he choose his guys by their heart, their desire to win and potential to 'be a star.' Shamrock choose whomever he thought could beat Ortiz's guys. Ortiz is also not 'tearing his guys down' first. He's in there, wrestling with them, sparring with them. He's learning his guys by working with them, not by standing back with a clipboard watching them and barking orders.

I am anticipating a great season, lots of tension, and gods willing, some good fights... And I want Oritz to lump up Shamrock at the end of it all. (again!)

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

WTF in a bowl

OMG Okay, so I won't try 'authentic Indian cuisine' again. And, no, not Native American 'Indian;' but back of a f*cking camel in hot ass India, Indian, red-dot on the forehead, towel turban wearing smelly horny men, Indian. (Don't go on Ryze if you're a woman and you don't want men Indian men to call you a Goddess. I mean, I KNOW that I am, but they don't need to tell a married woman that.)

On Friday, the family decided to see ICE AGE 2 (Diego RULZ!! Here kitty kitty... I even have a stuffie of him now!) As we were already 'out,' DH decided to 'try something new' and 'broaden our culinary horizons.' Out of town. A highway drive away from home. NOT a good idea for anyone who has suffered IBS symptoms. New food and highway travel are a recipe for disaster.

A new restaurant opened in nearby Swampland, MI. (about a 20 to 30 min drive from home) I'm not one to stray far outside my norm when it comes to eating; not if I want the food to stay where I put it, anyway. It's all about GASTRONOMIC DISTRESS, also known as gastroinestinal pyrotechnics, to put things mildly.

The door opens, and we are met with high pitched pig-squealing bitches belly dancing on a TV screen mounted in the corner. Wonderful start. Thank gawd they have pretty clothes. I'd kill for a figure suitable to wear one of those outfits. Anway, nothing on the menu looked appetizing. Ironically, I have a talented tongue... a real proclivity for pronounciation (what did you think I was gonna say?? gutterminded people... LOL) And even though I could produce a fair imitation of their dialect, my guts couldn't process their damned food.

The pashawar naan was great, a flat bread with fruits and nuts baked in, but that's where the goodness stopped. The entrees were f*cking scary. Well, the rice wasn't, but DAMN the steaming sh*t in those bowls... Ew! I ordered some kind of lamb something... Put it this way, it smelled like an unwashed arab man's armpits and look like it had been forced through one of his orafices. WTF? Chunks of lamb, stewed, aldulterated in some tomatoe something pasty sh*t, with chunks of tomatoe, onion and green peppers. And, that's just what I could identify!

I masitcated as much as I could, which wasn't much at all. My guts kind of clamped, and began to gnarl as I sat. I tried a suck of mango shake. I hate mango. But I was desparate to wash that crap out of my mouth. By the time we left, I felt like I was going to explode, one way or another.

We flew through a Dollar Store to get some Immodium. I grabbed the wrong damn box!! I thought for sure I was going to DIE. I think at one point I wanted to. It was at then that I made my mind work. "Mind over matter," they say. I am very strong minded; some might say that I am damn stubborn... (shuttup, those of you who do) So, I decided to force that misery away. I'm okay... I'm tougher than this... I'm okay.

It worked.

And I learned something. More than never to eat that sh*t again. If I can control those gut wrenching IBS syptoms, I can do anything I put my mind to.


Sunday, April 02, 2006

UNDER ARREST: the pictoral



**Am I bad? Oh, Yes, very, very bad...**

Alex TAGGED me!

**Lovely, beneficiant Alexandra tagged me the other day and I missed it...**

Four jobs you have had in your life:
1. Cashier
2. Waitress at a meatmarket
3. Bouncer at same said meatmarket
4. Submissions editor for a literary agency

Four movies you could watch endlessly:
1. The Mummy
2. The Mummy Returns
3. Underworld
4. Pirates of the Carribeanan

Four places you have lived:
1. Swamp land, Michigan
2. Scary neighborhood, Michigan
3. Teeny Tiny house, Michigan
4. Here

Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. Amwerica Idol (GO, Chris!!)
2. WWE (sick of McMahon, though)
3. TNA (when I'm awake)
4. UFC (when it's on)

Four places you have been on vacation:
note: I was 'talked to' about my previous answer in my LJ. The amended list is:
1. Camping
2. Sea world, Ohio
3. Camping
4. Milwaukee

Four BLOGS you visit daily:
(there are WAY more, but I'm trying to stick to the rules...somewhat)
1. An Innocent A-Blog (brilliant Bernita)
2. Lady M Writes (love ya!!)
3. The Wry Writer (smooches)
4. Candice Gilmer's World (sister Aphrodite girl!)

Four of your favorite words:
1. Passion
2. Pain
3. tumescent
4. determined

Four places you would rather be right now:
1. In bed with my man
2. Hot shower
3. Coffee pot (addicted, yes, I know)
4. somewhere else

Four people to be tagged:
Not that I am not terribly curious as to what y'all are like, I'm not in a thinking mood, so I'm not tagging anyone today. Run, frolick, live free!

Saturday, April 01, 2006

A question...

Sorry, no snippets today. I have a question to pose...

Why, when we are out-of-sorts (irritable, grumpy, tempestous, cranky, for me, bitchy), do we strike out at those who least deserve it?

And to make this post somewhat writing related, do you ever have your characters behave in a similar manner, give them less-desirable traits? If you're a reader, how do you feel about a character with flaws like that?

We aren't perfect; coloured with everything from temper to regret for such; does literature represent those shades? Does art imitate life??

Friday, March 31, 2006

Transformation scene

**Sariah is getting bitchy, she hasn't been let out in a while. She's been barking and scratching at the door in the back of my mind. So, instead of sex, or violence, I thought I would allow another side of her out...**

Four city blocks from the corner where she abandoned her recent kills, the bones of her feet, which bore the most weight, began to ache. Then the need to return to human became strong and hurtful. Even after hundreds of years, she could not get accustomed to that particular pain. She began to hurry, and in her haste she sacrificed caution for speed. Discretion was not an option. Thankfully, she was at the seedy end of town, and Sariah was certain that she had terrorized the residents enough that if they saw her, none would call the authorities.

Her entire body hurt now, ribs burning with each heaved breath. Joints began to crack as they collapsed toward human. All four paws struck pavement as she ran and then skidded around a corner at the end of Hudson Street.

Beneath a battered TV repair shop sign was an entrance into an unlit back alley. Ragged edges abraded Sariah's sensitive muzzle as she eased the tip of her snout between the jamb and the unlocked, battered metal door. Blood dripped from uprooted whiskers as she drew in large snoutfuls of air, testing for unwanted interlopers. She did not wish for any witnesses to her transformation. Exhaled snorts sprayed sanguine drops to the rolled dust ridge which rode before the advancing edge of the door.

Stale urine, soured milk in a container in a trash bin, nasty diapers, but other than that she smelled nothing. She was alone.

Sariah drug the rest of her body through the easement and turned to slam the door shut behind her. Fur boiled off from her clawed hands, leaving raw singed skin behind. Her hands screamed in silent pain, the knuckles cracking as the bones of her fingers shrank back to the same delicate digits before transformation.

Yet this was only the beginning.

Transformation flowed in a savage flood from the extremities inward. Tears bled from Sariah's eyes, both from pain and from the restructured leaking of the eye socket as the bones regained her refined woman's features. Hair fell from her hide as the skin grew tender and ligature-tight, strangling her muscles, her ribcage. Her wrists and ankles twisted with vicious torque beneath her body where she crouched. Suffering ran thick through her blood, echoed in hollow refrain through her bones as arm and leg bones shortened and turned, grinding the joints.

By the time her torso began to change, Sariah had been reduced to kneeling, her rib cage cinching tight, her stomach regurgitating the jumbled bones and fibrous ligaments of fingertips; the flesh came out in a clear, jellied mass. Her throat erupted in keening as her pelvic bones snapped loose from her spine – twisted, contorted, pumped agony throughout her body. Shoulder blades, floated free, wrenching as they rode the back of her ribcage into their normal position.

Finally, the pain was over. Sariah's chest heaved, the air no longer tainted with her own blood. Relief trickled in where the pain had begun to ebb. Yet, with each change and return, her pained mind was forced to remember how she became the creature that she was; the animal that had first bitten her and poisoned her blood, her body – and broken her heart.

She was forced to remember Xander Nicolas Waithorn.

Thursday, March 30, 2006

Friday comes early..

**I know I promised the ladies their erotica fix on Friday. Well, I guess this week Friday COMES early...**

Flannel-clad in pajamas, she headed for the bedroom door like every other night. The door eased open; and light flickered in the room. Something was amiss. She wasn't a criminal, but she was alone and in trouble.

And she liked it.

A rustle of pant, a clink of metal – the Officer appeared from behind the door. He was in hot pursuit of her criminal copulatory compunctions. His eyes took her in. He smiled as his heavy hand pushed the door closed behind them. With a wicked smile, he locked it.

"You are under arrest." His voice was husky and low. She liked that, too.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, a tight, insistent grip, and then forced her to turn. Palms met paint as he pushed her to the plaster. "Up against the wall and spread 'em," he ordered.

This was a new game, and she adopted her role of Bad Girl with consummate ease.

Next, her night clothes were stripped from her. He tossed them to the floor. They were useless in his form of interrogation. He had better tool to make her talk. To her surprise, and excitement, he then produced handcuffs. And used them.

Naked, wrists shackled before her, she was at his mercy. His hands were firm, she noticed his personal club to be, as well. The reinforced zipper of his BDU's was strained.

She smiled. He liked that.

He patted her down. Then he felt her up, one hand smacked her ass as the other hand turned gentle on her breast, and teased her nipple. Warm pleasure spilled within to mix with her excitement. She sighed. He then spun her about to face him.

"Do you have any weapons," he asked.

"Only my sharp whit," she quipped.

He roughed her around then. Punishment maybe, but she liked it anyway. He walked her back against the bed and then pushed. She tumbled onto the covers, coquettish and eager.

His pants were coarse against her delicate skin as he pressed his way between her thighs. She reached for him then, yet he caught her by the cuffs, slapped her hands and forced her body back and up the bed. He came in close, stole a kiss from her ready lips as he clicked her cuffs through the headboard. Desire flooded her. He was strict – rigid – she was naughty and about to be disciplined.

He stepped back from the bed, ran one hand the length of her body, while the other worked the BDU's down and off. He returned to his dominant position between her knees, his hands on her flesh and his nightstick at the ready.

Bent on elicitation, he came forward, tip of his intent teasing her mischievous lips. He would make her talk. She was, however, determined to force him to use all his tools.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" He asked as he pressed his point of passionate punishment into her.

She moaned. He withdrew. She whimpered, but he smacked her thigh and repeated his penetrative query. She groaned, her hips rose up to meet his. He smacked her other thigh. Once more the question, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I plead the Fifth," she moaned. He liked that.

"If you will not talk…" he hinted, and produced a blindfold.

She smiled, only, and then closed her eyes. The blindfold slipped over her head in an inappropriate rush. She heard an unfamiliar noise, a grinding ended with a snap. Then, his lips were upon hers, his tongue pressed sweet nectar in her mouth. His hands once more searched her body. No weapons, but tight nipples and ready flesh.

She sucked the intoxicating liquid from his tongue. He ran his mouth down to her breast, pulling on her taut nipple with his warm tongue as his fingers searched farther, lower, searched her hidden cache of hedonism.

"More…" she whimpered.

"So you will talk," he said. He liked that.

Persecutor became perpetrator, guilty of invasion of her most private property. Her knees held up at his sides, he entered her, making a hasty retreat before plunging deeper in. He pressed her for information, walked the line of good cop/bad cop as he drove his insistence into her.

She writhed and moaned. So, did he.

Hands clutched tight around her thighs, he negotiated her surrender, her passionate release. But then, he withdrew again, to kneel and whisper his own confessions to her ravaged flesh. Tongue in-between her lips, fingers teasing flesh, he gave a full, and lurid confession. Her hips rose, her body shuddered in deliberation of climatic freedom.

Yet, he climbed her body once, more, reinstating her former sentence of climax by copulation. Finally, he beat her into submission and she broke her silence. She pleaded for clemency, he denied, driving her to spill the truth.

"Guilty as charged," she moaned, body imprisoned in orgasmic agony.


Can you see the Chesire Cat grin on my face? Can you hear me purr??



Had the kids' conferences yesterday. Other than Kat talks too much (my daughter????), and KG's always in a hurry, well... the teachers might as well have told me I had geniuses. Only one grade less than average, and that is in that particular kid's hardest subject. Otherwise, ALL grades for both children were B or better. For both, words like 'brilliant,' 'excellent,' and 'way above the rest of the class' were used. *grin*

Both received highest marks in, Yup, you guessed it, English. Kat's teacher says, 'your daughter has a very strong author voice and great control of her vocabulary.' {side note: Kat's 10! Teacher said it must be genetic} WOOT, That's my girl!! *purr* KG has some of the highest marks in his class, 'very organized, 'brilliant work.' His teacher said, however, get this!... That he could do better if he applied himself more. Better than an 'A'?? HA Sorry, smart people get bored if you cannot keep their attention... I know from experience. LOL

So, yup, I'm a damn proud Mum right now!

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Bad, Blogger! Bad!!


My gorram blog is showing nothing but a big black f*cking screen. SO damn frustrating! I can't even get to the comments from yesterday.


At least, this way, I get more writing done... :) I am working on the rewrites in Nuermar's Last Witch, as well as my short In Pursuit of Prey about Sekhmet, Egyptian Goddess of sexual heat and vengeance. (LOVE that combo!) Plus, she's lionen animorphic, perfect practice for the Were novel that is stewing in my brain, too. Because, as you all know, I have a fetish for the whole fur, claws, fangs thing...

Oh, and I am chewing on another vignette for you all, too. "Under Arrest" Handcuffs, blindfolds, forceful... WOOT!

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

The Playlist...

Welcome to the rhythmic background of my mind, otherwise know as 'my playlist.'

The Something Like Human album, my favorites being:

Last time, "This is the last time, now, I'll bleed for you"
Hemorrhage, OMG the entire song!
Prove, "prove to me you're something like human"
Easy, "…bring the pleasure, bring the pain…"
Innocent, "Satan, you know where I lie…"

Headstrong (as if THAT was ever a question…)
Made of Glass "I don't need to hear your answer, I just need to you to see"

From the All the Right Reasons album:

Follow You Home (great to growl in someone's ear)
Fight for all the Wrong Reason "…you got off every time you got onto me…"
Next Contestant (what girl doesn't want her guy to feel this way??)
Savin' Me "…I'm on the ledge of the 18th story…"
Far Away (I just plain BAWL)

And also from The Long Road:

Do This Anymore
Figured You Out (it's just plain naughty!)


Erotica (prerequisite, is it not? LOL)
Human Nature (naughty version)


The Undertaker (HOT, omg, wrote Sensual Bedlam to this one)
Rev 22:20 (Rev 4:20 mix) seductive as slow poison


Living Dead Girl
More Human


I Am, "I'll tell you when I come, but you'll come before me" (means exactly that)


Just Like You


Chris Daughtry, Walk the Line; LIVE, Forever May Not Be Long Enough; Gerard McMann, Cry Little Sister; Pussy Cat Dolls, Dontcha and Buttons; Van Halen(Hagar), Humans Being; Slip Knot, Vermillion Pt.2; Stained, Outside and Pressure; Stone Temple Pilots, Sex Type Thing; Golgotha Tenement Blues from The Crow soundtrack; HIM, Rip Out the Wings of a Butterfly; Queesryche, most tunes, although I am compulsive about Gonna Get Close to You (dark, stalkerish…); Garbage, No.1 Crush, from Hex soundtrack; NIN, Closer (oh yeah!); Dawn, from Escape From L.A. soundtrack; I Can't Live if Living is Without You, Harry Nilsson (wanna see me cry?? this one will do it)… there's more, but I my eyes are crossing…

Monday, March 27, 2006

A tase of something different...

**Well, I've given you snippets of traditional M/F in various situations and positions, given you F/F/M on a dance floor and in vampire voyeurism. I think by now y'all know I won't touch M/M with any kind of pole, so... how about some F/F action, heavy with vampiric overtones??

This scene comes from my novel Forever Dark; and it is the point at which my heroine Licia sacrifices her mortality to the vampire Canaan...**

“Please,” I said.

She turned to me then, her shadowed eyes radiated a wicked desire; not just for my blood, but for me. Canaan transformed before my eyes, and as she changed, my body responded in kind. She was a succubus, beautiful and enticing. Her body began to shimmer, a cloud of dark hair floated about her face, prominent, pointed teeth glinted in the moonlight, and her clothes melted away. Her figure was glorious. Supple thighs, narrow waist, and high, pointed breasts. I longed to touch her, to place my lips on her flesh.

“Come,” she beckoned. “Become…”

My body pulsated. I could contain my desire no longer – I reached for her, and a delicate hand grasped mine to pull me from the sand. Canaan enveloped me in a torrid embrace. Her lips pressed against mine, the tip of her tongue tickling mine and her bare breasts rubbing against the front of my gauze shift. Her nipples were hard and as they rubbed against mine, they tightened too. Tingles crawled across my flesh; waves of desire’s heat flooded my frame as the sensitive parts of my body burned for her touch.

Canaan heard my unspoken desire and loosened my belt, letting it fall to the sand. She slipped her hand beneath my shift, her fingernails grazing the skin of my thigh as she reached farther up. She cupped my breast in her hand, her thumb gently rubbing in circles over the tightened, sensitive flesh of my nipple. I moaned my pleasure into her open mouth, and Canaan drank it in. She nipped the inner flesh of my lip, and then licked the blood onto both of our tongues. She let her mouth slip from mine, and began to nip and nuzzle my neck, as her hands pulled my shift up over my hips and then off of my body.

She pressed against me urgently, directing me to lie back against the bank of the Nile. The sand against my skin was cool, but Canaan’s lips and hands were hot – the two temperatures fueled the sensations surging through me. I put my hands on the sides of her head, lifting it from where she suckled and licked the skin of my neck. Her lips were brilliant red with my blood, but I didn’t care; I desired her touch, her bite, her blood. I directed her mouth to my breast, and as she sucked my nipple, I took her wrist to my mouth. I licked her flesh, and nipped the sensitive skin, yet did not break the surface.

In her untamed passion, she pressed her body against mine, grinding her hips and occasionally purring like Bastet, or groaning in pleasure. Her groans turned to cries of delight as my hand found the warm, red flesh between her thighs and I bit down into her wrist. Canaan’s body twitched with the sudden sensation, then she pulled away from my breast, her eyes wild with passion and her face painted with my blood. She smiled, licked her lips, and then put her hands between my thighs. I trembled only a moment, and then she pressed my thighs apart.

With a fluid motion, Canaan turned her body so that her face was between my thighs; as I arched my back her wrist, which I had pierced with my own teeth, was against my mouth. As I licked the bitter blood that dripped from her wrist, she began to lick my hot, throbbing flesh. Each contact of her tongue pushed my body closer to the ultimate pleasure I desired, and the ultimate change of my existence. As climatic waves flooded my body with pleasure, Canaan replaced her tongue with her free fingers as she buried her face in the soft flesh at the top of my thigh.

The motion of her fingers continued the waves of pleasure flooding my body, even as the succubus drained me. Her teeth, like physician’s blades, sunk into my leg, slicing the major vessel, allowing my life force to flow into her body, and to spill down the bank to run in red ribbons down the Nile.

When I knew that death was coming for me, I bit as deeply into her wrist as I could, and sucked her potent poison in. She tried to pull away, yet my teeth sank in farther, taking some of her flesh and blood vessels into my own gullet as she finally wrenched free.
Canaan stood. She looked at her injured wrist, and watched as the gaping hole slowly healed. Vessels first, then meat, and then finally skin. She touched the regenerated flesh and then smiled at me. It was the most wicked grin I had ever witnessed.

I tried to rise, but was unable. Instead, I lay motionless on the sandy riverbank. She reached down, caressing my cheek before she took up my shift and clothed herself, wrapping my gold belt around her waist. As my field of vision faded, she leaned closer to me and spoke.

“You will die – yet you will live forever. I will always remember your passion.”

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Music is back!

Ever been through rhythm withdrawal?? Ain't pretty -- trust me on this. Worse than going cold turkey off caffeine... Headaches and the whole nine yards. I have been so damn ugly since my MP3 player died that I think there were acutally times that I scared myself - walked around the house turning mirrors to face the wall because I didn't want to see the ornery bitch looking back at me.

Well, I am pleased to announce, thanks to a combined anniversary/Easter gift from DH, the music is back! I can allow my rhythmic obsession free reign again! Oh, thank gawd for music. I want to wallow in it, revel in it, naughty in it... Is naughty a verb?? Maybe not. Maybe so. Maybe it's just my mind in it's euphoric utopia.

But, I digress.

Thank you, Muff.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Words given voice...

Perhaps this is a generalization, but to me, we all have something that piques our interests, fuels our imagination, feeds the flames of the bale fires of our muses... For me, if my words were given voice, especially The Venue (see Band Night) then this would be it:

Chris Daughtry sings Walk the Line

Many thanks to HS Kinn for the linkage!!

Towel Time

**You want a warning, then this is it. Lady M talks of her towel. Alexandra speaks of shower tokens. Bernita says steamy... Even newcomer Karl (don't know the link) mentioned needing a shower... So for all of you needing of a cleansing...**

This is a scene from the sequel to Forever Dark, and has my vampire H/H in a 'heated, steamy' moment...

I reached up to kiss him and then bit his lip.

"Don't bleed on my rug," I warned him, and then winked.

Josiah couldn't help but smile again – his eyes sparkled, even. He enjoyed my brand of punishment. The full curve of his lip had been split by my fang and a ruby droplet beaded up and threatened to plummet to the absorbent wool beneath his feet. I raised an eyebrow, reached out a finger to stop the sanguinary globule from staining my rug, but Josiah licked his split lip and then stepped quickly into the cavernous shower.

I dropped my own sheet to the floor and then kicked the discarded linens into the laundry shoot and out of sight. The towel warmer hummed to life as I dropped two plush bath sheets over the rod and then joined my lover.

Water soon coursed through the artificial falls and cascaded in a fine, heavy spray. Josiah stepped back so that I could immerse myself in the surging mists. The hot water streamed between my breasts and down my abdomen; instinctively I reached for my shelf of oils and hand-crafted soaps. Josiah stopped me, guiding my hand off to the side, to the bright brass bar that lined the shower walls.

He took up a natural sea sponge, and then smelled soap after soap, searching for just the right scent. Then, I watched his eyes close as he inhaled deeply of a soaponified oil of lotus blossom. Scent is the strongest sense tied to memory, and I could tell by Josiah's body posture, and obvious arousal, that the scent reminded him of our many intense sexual encounters. When his eyes opened again, they simply smoldered, his hunger for me flaring behind his dark irises. The new smile that graced his face was slow and wicked, tantalizing. My heart fluttered and refused to pick up a steady rhythm.

Josiah squeezed the sponge until it produced rich, aromatic foam. Then, he caressed the lather over my body as an artist used gesso to prepare a canvas before painting a masterpiece upon its surface.

He dropped the sponge into a mesh basket in the corner, and then pressed my back against the cool, stone wall. Chills crept across my flesh, and were only intensified by Josiah's heated embrace as he pressed his lips against mine. Our tongues met, tangled then parted as Josiah moved to nuzzle my earlobe with a bit of fang. A warm, delicious tingle blossomed from my ear and flowed down my neck and shoulders. My lover intensified the pleasure as he then kissed my neck, biting enough to break the skin surface, and redouble the stinging bliss that rode through my body.

I trembled. I fell weak and nearly collapsed in tremored bliss, so Josiah took my hands above my head, directed me to grasp the brass piping above to steady myself.

Driven by desire, Josiah pressed in closer, his breath my breath, his consummate skill my sweet agony. His hands worked the lather into textured patterns of ancient hieroglyphs before he wiped it away from my breasts. He bent down and suckled my nipple in a vampire's kiss, teeth exposed, until blood trickled from the corner of his mouth to mingle among the lotus bubbles fading from my flesh. I moaned; my body lax, my arms the only things that kept me upright.

Josiah pinched the tender tip of my nipple between his tongue and his top row of fangs as his hands moved down my stomach until they reached my thighs. There, his knees bent down and my eyes rose to Heaven.

My body still trembled, ached with anticipation. My mouth still watered. A victim of my wanton hunger, I was scarcely aware that Josiah lifted my knee and placed my foot upon his raised thigh. I wanted him within me. Yet, my lover did not give ecstasy so easily away; he liked to make me wait, he liked to prolong my desires before he satiated my flesh. A moan escaped my lips and I shuddered at his touch – even after so many years, he still thrilled me.

His hands worked in hedonic tones, teased my tingling flesh and colored me in sensual bliss. Then, Josiah released his nettled grip on my nipple and moved his mouth down my body. He slipped beneath my raised thigh and his lips, which I loved, loved my hidden ones in return. I twitched as rapture ran wild within me, and nearly convulsed as his tongue danced on my decadent soul.

I was so close to climax that I could taste it heavy on my tongue. Then, Josiah rose up, rode along the curves of my body as he kissed and nipped and left a bloody trail to my neck. He reared back, his mouth open, fangs exposed, as he entered my eager opening and sank his fangs into my throat as well.

Passion flowed within, pain without. The two sensations rose and swirled with in me – a dangerous and heady concoction. In a throe of ecstasy, I collapsed against my lover and Josiah supported my weight as I moaned and writhed against him. My only thought was him; my only awareness was erotic bliss as I reveled in his every tumescent inch. Then, somehow, even as he held me, he managed to slip a hand beneath me to further tantalize the already throbbing flesh, and he rocked his hips in that stilted rhythm that he knew would take me to orgasm.

My breath came and went in a heavy pant, my voice nothing more than a moaning groan. I clung to Josiah, eyes rolling as I clawed his back until red welts rose to smart under the hot water. His beautiful face twinged as he winced, yet he enjoyed the pain. He pressed me hard against the wall for leverage and then, in blinding bliss, Josiah brought me to an orgasm the likes of which I had never experienced.

Josiah slumped against the wall, and slid down onto his rear with me still straddled over his pelvis. I rested against his chest as latent pleasure pulsed through me. The water continued to fall, warm and comforting, as my lover took up the forgotten soaped sponge, and gently swept the away the bloodied bubbles which still coated me. Then, Josiah squeezed the remainder of the natural cleanser into my hair and massaged my scalp as he washed my hair, as well.

Josiah lifted me as he rose, my head against his shoulder, my body limp as a kitten in his arms. I reached out and turned off the water, and then he carried me to the plush rug beside the towel warmer.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006


**this is an OLD one; not sure why I'm posting it, other than it insisted...**

A blade on my wrist-
The smile was in your eyes.
Pressing down- steel on skin.
The corners of your grin
Twisted evilly.
Your grip was too tight-
I lost mine…

Sinew and steel

Want to get away,
want to get you out
Of my life.
Blade in my wrist.
You won’t leave,
So I’ll end it, and
Be free of your grasp.

Steel in veins

The water in the sink is bloody,
And I’m shaking- but I
Won’t stop. I’m going
To teach you a lesson.
You’ll never hold me again.

Life in the sink

Weak, I’m so weak.
Can barely stand up,
But, watching my hate-colored
Blood flowing slowly
Gave me courage.

Me on the floor

You kneel by me,
Afraid to touch the sodden,
Bloodless form that was
Your clutching post.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Catty continuation: Sariah's true mate

**this is a continuation from yesterday's post... And perhaps a better expension of their energies...**

She reached up and wrapped her arms around his bloodied neck. He emitted that peculiar pained purr as the pressure cinched his injured flesh. Yet, he did not recoil. He allowed her to embrace him, to touch him, to kiss his face. Her hands ran the length of his sleek, lean muscled body, slipping quickly over the wounds which she had caused. She rubbed her face, her chest against him in a most feline manner. His tender grin exposed sharp white canines to the moonlight. She curled her fingers in his hide as she rubbed against him.

He pressed her back unto the ground, big cat paws upon her shoulders as his hind legs straddled her hips. He crouched over her, purring constantly. "Stuart," she whispered one last time, and then Sariah closed her eyes. He bent down, his face close enough that the short whiskers of his muzzle brushed her eye lashes. He inhaled deeply, expelling warm breath; then his lips parted, and he bathed the blood from her face with his wide, wet tongue.

She sighed, and reached from him. He refused, and instead pushed her back down. He took hold of her arm, nipped the skin of her wrist, and then ran his tongue the length of her forearm. She shuddered at the tingling mix of his rough tongue and the suppressed passion which it ignited within her.

He came close to her again; he rubbed his thick muzzle against her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. He sniffed in her sanguinary scent, his jaws open to allow sensitive scent glands the full experience as his eyes rolled and desire took him. The tip of his tongue slipped between that slit in his muzzle, between his sharp eye teeth. Stuart took this tip, and cleaned Sariah's body of the evidence of their confrontation. His flared nostrils bathed her in his steamy breath, his tongue painted her in tones of feline hunger. His mouth hovered over one breast, the nipple pinched between his teeth, while one paw took to the other breast, her nipple between the velvet toe pads as he teased her tight flesh. An involuntary groan escaped her.

His purr intensified into a rumble within. He pressed his body down upon her, and that rumble penetrated to flood her. Stuart placed one back foot between Sariah's legs, and then the other as he slowly spread her thighs. Front paws to either side of her upper body, Stuart moved his mouth down her abdomen, licking the valleys, nipping the curves. Sariah twitched and moaned. Then, he reached folds of her hidden flesh. Her knees came up, and spread as he eased his shoulders down.

Both paws ran the length of her quaking thighs, claws lightly scratching and exciting her skin before they turned and parted the tingling folds of her sensual flesh. Stuart once more pressed his curled tongue within her, conversing with the core of her desires. As he licked deep within, the heat from his muzzle sensitized the outer flesh, and a toe pad danced upon her passionate point.

Sariah writhed and moaned. Her hips rose and fell of their own volition. Her fingers clutched at his shaggy mane. She curled those digits, and pulled his face from between her thighs. She looked deep into his eyes, hers burning with heathen desire. A wicked grin curled his short muzzle, his tail twitching, as he lowered his body between her legs and slid forward.

The tip of his shaft teased the lips of her eager opening. With a rock of the hips, he entered her. She moaned, her fingernails clawing at him, trying to pull him deeper in. He refused her once more, tipping his hips so that his rigid member rode nearly all the way out. There, the tip throbbing within, the length of the staff without, she reached down, wrapped the fingers of one had around the slick base of his shaft, the fingers of the other opened herself farther as she guided him back into her, and then out, and then yet deeper in.

Her head rocked back. Her chest heaved as pleasure pulsed through her, driven by his feline grace and her hands. He purred, a heavy, panting sound as he allowed her dominance over his most masculine motion.

She guided them toward orgasm. Sensing that sweet release within her, Stuart curled his body so that his mouth was once more upon her breast, teeth around the tip, tongue dancing on the nipple. She groaned; her hands fell away. He took control, driving in that stilted rhythm he remembered and Sariah began to pant, to whimper, to beg. "Please," she beseeched. He obliged, riding that shaft deep within, with a quick slide back out, even as his tongue pulled and his toes slipped back between her folds to tease farther. He even curled his tail so that it tickled her ass as his hips rocked between her legs.

Her hands clenched over his shoulders as her body convulsed in a long and nearly painful orgasm. At first she couldn't breathe for the moans escaping her, but then she panted and cried his name again and again.

The multiple-orgasm pulsed within her, tightening the muscles around his tumescent shaft, and rubbing at him until he came as well, toes curled, tail erect as he growl-groaned in feline fantasy.