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In Pursuit of Mr. Sands Part 1

There’s something about travel that inspires strange tales and the Muse has been poking me with her big stick again. I don’t mind the bruised ribs of inspiration when they lead me to such fun stories, and this time they’ve led me back to Mr. Sands.

Mr. Sands’ story, as I suspected, is far from finished. And as I certainly suspected, someone like Mr. Sands couldn’t sneak around very long without being discovered by Madga Gardener and her consortium. Remember, this is a work in progress, so be gentle with me. Enjoy the next instalment of Mr. Sands’ strange tale.

 

In Pursuit of Mr. Sands Part 1

 

I followed him at a safe distance. He was fast tracked through passport control at Heathrow, as was I, and neither of us had luggage. He was my job. I wasn’t about to lose him. Once through customs and in the arrivals hall, he made his way to the Wetherspoons, where he ordered coffee, and I did the same, discreetly watching him watch the woman who was ushered in by one of the first class flight attendants, who settled her into a booth and ordered her up a full English breakfast. The woman looked dazed and her hands shook with her first bite of food.

She had good reason to be shaky, and she had good reason to be half-starved. I knew exactly what the attendant was explaining to her in hushed whispers, and so did he. He was the reason for her weakened condition. The flight attendant knew that and so did I. The thing is no one knew that I knew.

My name is Elise North. I’m a PI. At least that’s what Magda Gardener calls me, and that’s what my business card says – the one I hand out when I need to look legit. Most of the time I work under cover, and my ID changes with the job. I don’t own a gun. It would hardly do me any good. I work on cases that need a delicate hand. I do, however, own a silver-tipped stake … more of a stiletto, actually, but I know how to use it, I guarantee you that. I’m athletic, I’m fast and well trained in martial arts because, in a field as specialized as mine, if things ever go south, about the best I can hope for is to escape and run like hell. None of those skills, however, are the reason Magda Gardener hired me. I have other gifts, gifts that in the kinds of circles Magda and her people run in, are highly coveted.

Those particular gifts are the reason I was just off the night flight from New York’s JFK to London Heathrow after paying an enormous sum of money to sit across from Daniel Emerson Sands in first class. Before we were even off the runway at JFK, all of the flight attendants made time to pay the man homage. A big name celebrity couldn’t have drawn more solicitous, yet quiet attention. Each one, whether male of female, approached him with a fan girl flutter of excitement, I observed in a flush in the cheeks, a quickening of the pulse in throats, in temples, in a moistening of lips with a flick of the tongue, in an acceleration in the breath.

He kissed the fingers of the female attendants, so delicately caught up in his strong grip. Each of the male attendants he offered a warm handshake, then a clasp of the shoulder as they bent forward, almost as though they were about to share a secret … or a kiss. While it came as no surprise to me that each attendant responded with a little gasp and then a grunt and a shudder of the body that would have been almost undetectable to someone less observant. Neither did it come as a surprise when, each time, Daniel Sands inhaled deeply and sighed as though he had just past a bakery with the door open allowing its delectable scents to fill the air. What also came as no surprise, the thing I had spent the most time preparing for, and yet still found disturbing, was the frisson of fear that accompanied ritual. Each attendant came to Sands eager and willing, but fear was as much a part of the formula as lust. They all knew what he was. If they didn’t, he couldn’t do what he does, what he must, on this flight … repeatedly.

While we taxied and took off, Daniel Sands sat quietly perusing a copy of The New York Times as though he were any other passenger in transit just wanting the journey to be over with and to arrive safely at his destination. But I knew better. I’ve known better since Magda Gardener assigned me to follow him, to learn all about him that I can. As I said, I handle jobs for Magda that are of a delicate nature. You see, Daniel Emerson Sands is an incubus, a particularly powerful one, and one Magda has set her eyes on. It’s a very dangerous thing to have Magda Gardener sets her eyes on you. Mr. Sands had no idea he was up against a master huntress. All he wanted was his special in-flight meal service.

The flight attendants and the woman at check-in, and all of the others that Sands had contact with before boarding, they were nothing more than nibbles, appetizers, if you will. There were only seven of us in first class, but only one was his chosen main course. As with all of his in flight meals, she was upgraded from economy. I stood behind her in the line at check-in, I watched while Mr. Sands, ever so subtly bumped into her, all apologetic for being so careless. I watched the way he rested a solicitous hand at the small of her back to steady her so she wouldn’t fall. I watched the way he smiled at her. I watched, and I knew from my research, that she was the one, that she would have a visit in the dream world she’d be very unlikely to forget. And she would wake up weakened and confused.

Just as I expected, there was no lingering over dinner in first class. everyone fell asleep almost immediately after they’d eaten, and the attendants made themselves scarce. What I hadn’t expected was that as soon as everyone was asleep, Sands rose up from his seat and walked among the passengers, touching each of them lovingly. I was just about to panic, not sure what he’d do when he found me awake and not under his spell. I was just about to throw caution to the wind, flee to the lavatory and lock myself in when his tender ministrations were interrupted by the unexpected appearance of the blonde flight attendant. “You’re here,” she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” And suddenly my own heart was racing as he took her face in his hands and kissed her. And I swear, it wasn’t his magic affecting me, it was just that – well the way he kissed her was so damned sexy. He tasted and tested and teased her mouth like she was dessert and she responded as though the kiss was a raw desperate fuck. And then with a deep intake of breath, he released her. She shivered out what I was sure was an orgasm and then left, shutting the curtain behind her as though nothing had happened.

Before I could heave a sigh of relief, I was in danger of being found out again. One by one he kissed everyone in first class, as though he sought something out, and each one of them writhed and moaned and sighed in his kiss. I’m pretty sure a couple of the men even came. But I knew exactly what he was doing. I knew that in their sleep, he took the kisses from them, stolen kisses, and yet no one denied him because it felt so damned good. Still, I sensed that same hint of fear I had with the attendants. The mix of fear and lust is such an intriguing blend.

For me, there was no escape, and when he came to me, I could do nothing else but pretend to be asleep. The fear I felt, well that was genuine enough, and so was the sense of arousal after what I’d just observed. All I had to do was exactly what everyone else had done, when he came to me, and I felt his closeness, felt the humidity of his breath against my lips. As he cupped my cheek with a large palm, as he mantled me with the heat of his body and all but pulled me into his arms, for a terrifying moment, I thought I had made a mistake. I thought it was me he had come to claim, even as I knew that was impossible. And anyway, sex has its own magic, doesn’t it? His kiss was slow and deliberate and deep. I responded by pressing up into his embrace, by sliding my tongue against his, by allowing the bruising of lips against swollen lips as my pulse raced and I felt my own humid heaviness down below my belly. When he sighed softly and settled me gently back into my seat, I was as disappointed as I was relieved as he turned his attention to the blonde who was to be his main course.

I had not expected to be required to do more than observe. I had not expected an up close and personal encounter. From the safety of my feigned sleep, I observed what appeared to be nothing more than him laying one hand low on the woman’s belly while he breathed in her breath in a deep kiss. But I knew it to be so much more than that for both of them. I could practically see the magic like heat waves roiling off of them. It was there, something far more than what was visible, something I remained safely on the outside of. And as I observed, I actually believed I had fooled him. I actually believed I might get away with the impossible that Magda Gardener had asked of me. In retrospect, I should have known better.

 

British Bad Boys Out Now!

 

The British Bad Boys Box Set is out at last! Seven novellas by seven different authors: British Bad Boys are the best! I’m happy to have my novella, In Training included in the fabulous British Bad Boys Box Set.  I’m in between the pages with Lucy Felthouse, Victoria Blisse, Tabitha Rayne, Marissa Farrar,Lexie Bay, and Lily Harlem. This box set is romance with heat. It’s perfect for a sizzling summer binge read. To celebrate the release of British Bad Boys, here is an excerpt from my novella, In Training. While In Training may not be the recommended method to get fit for bikini weather, it certainly is recommended to take the chill off while you wait for the brief , but glorious, British Summer. Enjoy!

 

 

British Bad Boys Box Set Blurb:

Indulge yourself with this boxed set of stories written by bestselling and award-winning British romance authors. No one knows British bad boys better than they do!

Come and spend time with a dirty-talking London tattoo artist, a Scottish bad boy, a British gangster who won’t take no for an answer, and MORE! These men are all hotter than hell and have accents to die for. Whatever your desire, you’ll find it within these pages.

Packed full of brand new standalone, steamy stories with no cliff-hangers. With happily-ever-afters guaranteed, you won’t want to miss out on this limited collection, available for a short time only!

 

Buy British Bad Boys Here:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Amazon DE
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US
Kobo

 

 

 

 

In Training Excerpt – I can’t work with her:

“What Physicality, Inc. are doing is unprecedented,” said Misty Daniels, one of the presenters who would be covering Physicality Reality. She was one of Wolf Jennings’ gushing gym bunnies and happily claimed that she owed much of her success as a television presenter to Jennings’ training. Her partner in crime, Del Allen, was some obscure sports personality turned presenter – at least he was obscure to Lauren. They were both ready and waiting for Lauren’s big arrival so that the torture could begin.

“Think Big Brother does the gym, only one on one,” Del Allen said to the camera. “But I’m wondering, Misty, is there a back-up plan in case Lauren Michaels can’t cut it? She’s a shining example of the walking unfit that plagues Britain right now, putting career above marriage and family, above fitness and health. That path seems to have worked for her just fine judging from her accolades in the PR and marketing world, but this is a whole different ballgame. I’ve seen how Wolf Jennings operates. If I were a betting man, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be putting money on Michaels.”

“Well, Del,” Misty offered him a genuinely fake smile. “I wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss Lauren Michaels. Certainly Claire Amos has confidence in her, and I’d be the last person to bet against a horse Amos is backing.”

“Fucking hell. Now I’m a horse,” Lauren grumped. “I wouldn’t bet on me either if I were Allen. Claire, please reconsider.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lauren. You’re perfect for the job.” Before she could argue, Claire made a loud shushing sound and nodded back to the TV built into the plush upholstery of the stretch limo transporting them to the Wolf’s Lair, as the facility was now being affectionately called.

Lauren glared at the two commentators, who sat in the lounge area of the TV control centre. The lounge overlooked the
gym, which was far more intimidating than the presenters. Lauren racked her sleep-deprived brain for a last minute stay of execution.

It hadn’t been a good night – not that Lauren had expected it to be after tall dark and northern pulled a runner and left her in a bad way. She would have returned to the pub afterwards and switched from ale to whisky – lots of it, but for the fact that she didn’t need a hangover when she faced Claire for the walk of shame. Her boss had arrived in Keswick early this morning for the final briefing before she threw Lauren to the wolves, er … just one wolf, actually – Wolf Jennings.

She’d gone back to her hotel room accompanied by a pint of chocolate fudge brownie ice cream, which she followed up with an order of curry fries from the chippie down the street. It felt like her last meal. If she couldn’t make her boss see reason, the next six weeks would low-carb and kale hell.

Lauren had stayed up late checking the applicants who, unlike her, really wanted to be Jennings’ victim. It hadn’t been difficult to line up several, who promised her they would be packed and ready to take her place at the drop of a hat. That was the easy bit. Figuring out how to convince Claire to give someone else the infamous honour was the real battle.

Claire had the limo pick her up an hour before she was to make her grand appearance at Wolf Jennings’ chamber of horrors. It was another nod to Claire’s sick sense of humour that she wouldn’t allow Lauren to even know what the trainer she had chosen looked like until she was on her way to her gym prison.

“Here it is,” Claire said, giving Lauren a maternal pat on the arm.

On the screen, Misty offered the viewers that smile that said she was about to impart the best gossip. “As you know, Del, Wolf Jennings was my personal trainer for over a year, and all I can say is that the man gets results.”

“Sounds like the guy gave her multiples instead of biceps,” Lauren complained.

Claire replied with a silencing finger to her mauve lips, and Misty continued.

“Here’s a little clip we filmed earlier to introduce you to Wolf Jennings, the man and his methods.

“Claire, I really don’t think I’m the right person for — ”

Her boss silenced her with a raised hand and nodded to the screen. “Just watch, and then we’ll talk.”

Lauren glared at the video through gritty sleep-deprived eyes. Sounding more like a cheerleader than a presenter, Misty did the voiceover touting Jennings’ unorthodox, but successful methods. Before and after selfies of some of his clients — all looking svelte and glowing with health, flashed on the screen.

Lauren’s stomach knotted into a tight fist as Misty explained, “while Wolf’s methods might seem harsh, no one can deny they’re effective.”

Then the scene switched to early morning light streaming through a Lakeland forest. A dozen people sweated their way through the workout from hell while Misty rattled off Jennings’ qualifications, which meant nothing to Lauren. On camera, a middle-aged man grunted through something that made him look like an overgrown frog hopping across the grass, and Lauren wondered how it had all gone so wrong. The PR campaign she had created was genius, it was the ultimate way to showcase Physicality, Inc. for the brilliant company that it was. The plan had been to choose someone, someone grossly unfit, a volunteer who was willing to do what it took to get a hard, fit body, or at least get started down that path as far as six weeks would allow. And certainly there had been no shortage of volunteers, people believing that the extra level of control is what it would take to finally get them the healthy fit body of their dreams.

Oh Lauren could talk the talk, but she certainly didn’t walk the walk. Who had time for all that training and planning and eating clean? Of course now that she worked for Physicality, she intended to do all that stuff. Someday. It sure as hell hadn’t been her plan to have it done to her on reality TV!

 
The close-up of frog man pulled back to a panorama of a dozen people – men and women, in varying stages of fitness. They were all running and leaping and sweating out jumpy-squatty moves along with the weird frog thingy. Instead of curling up and whimpering on the grass, which Lauren was pretty sure she would have done, they were all shouting breathless encouragement to each other. In the midst of all the grunting and huffing, Wolf Jennings yelled, cajoled and egged them on sounding more like a drill sergeant than a personal trainer. The camera was strategically placed behind Jennings so that it looked out over his clients and, at the same time, made it clear that he was working out right along with them. He was jumping sweating and bulging and doing it all … shirtless!

“I can’t work out with him,” Lauren gasped, her heart doing a drumroll in her chest. I can’t … I mean he’s so … and I would be so …”

“Of course you can work out with him, Lauren, exactly because he is so … and you are so …” Claire spoke around a smile that was almost too big her face. Yup! Definitely a sick sense of humour.

The plan was that the volunteer would actually live with Jennings for the next six weeks. He would train them, monitor them and coach them on good nutrition and a healthy life style. The whole event would culminate in some physical challenge of the client’s choosing – something they dreamed about but never thought they could accomplish. Physicality had put together a state of the art facility complete with living accommodations. They had hired a cook and a nutritionist to help the client learn better ways of eating and cooking. Viewers could tune in any time to the live camera feeds and see what was going on at the Wolf’s Lair. Daily segments would air on YouTube, several cable channels and social media outlets as well as on Physicality’s own fitness network. Sponsorship had been quick in coming from multiple high end clothing, cosmetic and health food companies, all anxious to get a piece of Lauren’s genius. In addition, all those who tuned in and watched could download the recipes and the basic training techniques
Jennings used on his client. Every day there would be a weigh-in with measurements taken once a week. The audience could watch the transformation and participate by sending in their own success stories, photos and questions to the team who would be working social media 24/7. How could something so brilliant have backfired so badly?

The camera zoomed in for a close-up of Wolf Jennings glorious bulging arms and broad shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I look.” Lauren spoke over the cheerleader, who was now talking fitness jargon.

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with the way you look,” Claire replied smiling at Jennings’ tight arse well presented in athletic shorts. “Believe me, I would be the last person to ever base anyone’s employment on looks rather than skills, and you’ve got the skills or you wouldn’t have the job. But that’s not the point.” She waved a well-muscled arm at the image of Jennings glorious backside as he effortlessly pumped out some more jumpy- squatty thingies. “You’re the brains and Wolf’s the brawn. With both of you comfortable on camera, you’re Physicality’s dream team. But on a more practical level, hon, I thought you were going to have a heart attack before we made it up three flights of stairs when the elevator was down last month. I need you. I can’t have you dying on me.”

“I was carrying a heavy computer bag,” Lauren said, unable to hide the blush at being called on her lack of stamina. “Besides, I think I might have been fighting off a cold,” she lied.

Claire gave her the evil eye. “You work for Physicality, Inc. now, full time, and this new PR campaign is bloody genius,
but it’ll be even more so if the world can see that Physicality’s people are walking the talk.”

“I understand that, really I do, and I’ll join a gym, I’ll even get a trainer if that’ll help, just not in such a public way, and not with him. Please.”

Claire’s phone blared out Flight of the Valkyries over Jennings’ barked instructions to his tortured clients. “Speaking of the devil,” she said nodding to Jennings’ arse on the screen as she answered her device. “Wolf, darling! Lauren and I were just talking about you. Watching your lovely video, actually. On our way over.” She winked at Lauren, whose stomach suddenly felt like it was in free fall. “Here, Sweetie, let me put you on speaker so I can introduce you two,” she said just as the Wolf Jennings on the screen yelled for his people to clench those gluts and zip those abs.

And suddenly it was like that slow motion scene in a horror film, just before the pretty young innocent is shredded by Freddy Kruger or pursued by the monster from the fetid swamp. Wolf Jennings turned to gaze at the camera from beneath hooded eyelids that revealed familiar blue eyes. He offered a smile that was damn near erotic. Then he said in a very northern accent, “If you do your part, I guarantee I’ll get you there.”

As the clip ended and Misty and Del were once again on camera, Lauren sat frozen to the spot, just like all those poor
women in the films. She didn’t scream, though she felt like it. Instead she managed in a shaky voice, “I can’t work with him.”

“I can’t work with her.” The response on the other end of the phone was simultaneous. The familiar voice was honey and heat and frustration. Then he continued, sounding at least as breathless as he had on his video, as he had when he got up close and personal with her in the garden behind the pub. “There’s been some mistake, Claire. I can’t work with her. We can’t work together.”

 

 

Damned if You Do — New Paranormal BDSM from Lisabet Sarai

It’s always exciting to have a new story out by Lisabet Sarai. And I’m especially excited about Damned if You Do because dark paranormal erotica is right up my alley. Here are the deets of Lisabet’s yummy new release.

 

 

Excessica, 2017

Paranormal BDSM erotic romance (Five flames)

Approximately 29,000 words

HEA ending

 

 

 

Sometimes romance can be hell

 

 

 

Damned if You Do Blurb:

Wendy Dennison is tired of being a starving author. The royalties from her critically acclaimed romance novels barely pay her bills. Her devoted agent Daniel Rochester may be smart and sexy, but he can’t get her the sales she needs. Then a charismatic stranger appears at her coffee shop table, promising her fame and commercial success, as well as the chance to live out her dreams of erotic submission. But at what cost?

Nothing you can’t afford to lose, my dear.

Seduced by the enigmatic Mister B, she signs his infernal contract. He becomes both her Master and her coach, managing her suddenly flourishing career as well as encouraging her lusts. Under her mentor’s nefarious influence, she surrenders to temptation and has sex with Daniel. The casual encounter turns serious when she discovers her mild mannered agent has a dominant side. As the clock ticks down to her blockbuster release and Mister B prepares to claim her soul, Wendy must choose either celebrity and wealth, or obscurity and true love.

 

 

*****

“Lisabet Sarai writes the most beautiful erotic prose. Her stories tease at the senses and transport you to a world of sexual pleasure.” ~ Desiree Holt, queen of BDSM erotic romance and author of Forward Pass

 

“I’ve always been a fan—Lisabet Sarai’s erotic fiction is certain to captivate, dominate, and leave readers begging for more.” ~ Alison Tyler, best-selling author of erotic BDSM memoirs Dark Secret Love and Even Deeper.

 

 

Buy Damned if You Do Here (Ebook and Print):

 

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0727RZ39B/

 

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0727RZ39B/

 

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/damned-if-you-do-lisabet-sarai/1126292735?ean=2940157395711

 

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/damned-if-you-do-10

 

Excessica: https://goo.gl/dZN3dr

 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35009284-damned-if-you-do

 

(Other booksellers coming soon.)

 

 

About Lisabet:

 

LISABET SARAI occasionally tackles other genres, but BDSM will always be her first love. Every one of her nine novels includes some element of power exchange, while her D/s short stories range from mildly kinky to intensely perverse.

 

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.

 

Will Mr. Sands Meet Magda Gardener?

Mr. Sands may well be getting a visit from Magda Gardener in the future. She, along with one of my faithful readers (you know who you are 😉 ) has been scheming behind my back to make this visit happen. Magda has always liked to badger me and tease me when I’m jet lagged. She loves catching me between time zones. When I’m not really any place or any time, when I’m in a plane for hours, or when I’m a long way form home.

After spending two glorious days walking and exploring the John Day Fossil Beds, how could I not be inspired? Not only was I in a different timezone, but , while walking in the glorious Blue Basin, I was in a different millennia. (More about that later) As promised, from the archives, I’m sharing with you the second part of The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands  — a two-part story inspired in part from entering the twilight zone at Seattle International Airport last year at this time and wondering if I’d ever get out again. As I mentioned, Magda has her eye on Mr. Sands, so who knows how that will end. In the meantime, enjoy part 2.

 

 

The Strange Encounter with Mr. Sands Pt 2

Warning: Adult Content!

It was only as he turned his attention on me, lying there writhing in my first class seat/bed that I realized I was already anticipating his kiss, that my mouth tingled with desire, that my tongue darted over my lips making them moist, making them ready. I was more than anticipating, actually. I was desperate for his kiss. For a long time he stood watching me, and it felt as though there was no one else on the plane but the two of us. For only a second I closed my eyes, as though I could bask in his bright blue gaze, which felt like the only light in the plane, exuding a warmth that made me realize I’d never been warm until he looked at me that way. In the next instant, I felt chilled as though I might never be warm again, but it pasted almost before I was certain I felt it, and then his breath, sweet like summer over meadow grass, brushed my face, as I parted my lips in anticipation. “Not yet,” he whispered, against my ear. “We have time and I want to savour you, my darling.” His accent, the rhythm of his words was strange – not foreign, but somehow out of time.

And then I felt his teeth against my neck. Christ! Was the man a vampire? In my strange dream state, nothing really seemed impossible. But it was just a nibble, and then another and another raising a trail of goose bumps along my nape and down over my collarbone to the tops of my breasts. It was the chill of the cabin air that drew my attention to the fact I had unbuttoned my blouse and shoved my bra down to expose myself for him. I had no memory of undressing, nor of the fact that I was stroking and pinching my nipples to painful peaks and making desperate mewling sounds deep in my throat. “Please,” I whispered softly. “Please take me like you did them.”

“Oh no, my darling, not like them. I shall not take you like them, for you’re nothing like they are.” He drew my hands to his lips and kissed them in turn, then guided one to the bulge in his trousers. “I’ve only made them sleep. This I have saved for you and you alone, and it’s only fitting since you made me this way. Then he slid the blanket off me and, I couldn’t help it, I shifted my hips and let my legs fell open beneath my skirt.

“You’re ready for me, my darling. I knew that you would be, even as I saw you in queue at the check-in desk. You were like a beacon calling me to you. I knew then that I had to have you. He worried my skirt up with a large warm palm taking his time to stroke the outsides of my thighs and then fondling and insinuating his way in to the soft tender flesh between all the while I wriggled and squirmed anxious for his touch. When he’d scrunched the skirt was up high enough to reveal my panties, he planted a kiss on my still clothed pubic bone, the humid heat of his breath making me arch up to him. Then he sat back on his knees on the floor next to me. “Take them off, my beautiful girl. Take your panties off for me. I want to look at you, before I take you.”

When I was free of them, he opened my legs wide and kissed up the insides of my thighs in turn. “The smell of you is ambrosia to me,” he said, teasing me open and stroking me with two slender fingers until I felt as though I would crawl out of my skin if he didn’t take me. “Believe me, my darling, I need you as badly as you need me,” he said. Other than the soft whisper of the plane in flight, and our own desperate breathing, the cabin was filled with the sounds of sleep. The zip of his fly into the quiet night sounds made me jump and catch my breath, and then he kneed my legs open, grasped my buttocks and pulled me onto him with a harsh grunt. There was pain, more paint than I anticipated, knowing how ready I was to accommodate him, and I cried out, like I’d done the first time I’d had sex. That’s almost how it felt, like the first time, tight, virginal, a yielding grudgingly to his fullness, wanting it, wanting all of what he offered, and yet somehow fearing it at the same time.

For a moment he held still on top of me struggling to control himself, speaking soothingly, cupping my cheek as he did so. “There, there. It’ll be all right. The pain will pass quickly. It’s just in the beginning it hurts because it’s so new to you, but then comes the taking and with the taking comes the pleasure, and you’ll not be left wanting.” After a moment, when I could hold still no longer, when I needed him to thrust in spite of the pain, he sighed softly and began to undulate — gently at first and then building in intensity as I wrapped my legs around him and held on. “There now. That’s better isn’t it, my lovely. There now. It’ll be good, so good. You’ll see.” He spoke in tight little grunts, and with each thrust it was as though he were filling me still fuller until I could contain it no more and the spasms began, and they didn’t stop, only ebbed and yielded and rose again with his urgency.

It was only then that he kissed me. Long and hard and deep, he kissed me, and he kept kissing me, his tongue dancing with mine, his mouth taking my breath away with each lap and stroke and suckle, with each inhalation of his need until I had none left, until he breathed for me. It was as though he pulled the whole of me into himself. In kissing me, it felt as though he could read me, as though he had made me even more naked that I really was, exposing my inner workings for all the world to see. But there was no one to see but him, and I wanted him to see, I wanted him to see everything. “Almost there now,” he whispered against my mouth, and I could feel his body tensing above mine and the more he tensed, the deeper he kissed me, and the deeper he kissed me the more I opened to him until there was nothing in me that wasn’t revealed to him. When at last he exploded into me, me still orgasming as though I’d break a part, me still unable to draw breath of my own, consciousness slipped away completely, everything slipped away in an instant, and I simply ceased to be.

At the Wetherspoons where Maggie had taken me and bought me breakfast once I was functional again, I finished my coffee and looked up at her. “That’s what I remember. It was then that I woke up with you leaning over me. The blue-eyed man, Mr. Sands, I take it– he was nowhere to be found. If you hadn’t helped me, I don’t think I could have made it off the plane.”

“He’s an incubus,” Maggie said without preamble. Before I could respond, she added quickly. “That particular night flight between JFK and Heathrow is called ‘the Sands flight,’ by all of us who work it regularly.” She blushed hard and looked down at her hands next to her coffee cup. “We’ve all experienced what you have.”

“An incubus.” The words came out like a harsh breath, but they weren’t a question. Whatever he was, I’d known, or suspected in my gut from his first touch that he wasn’t human.

She nodded. “He always shows up in the queue at the luggage check-in desk and upgrades someone to first class – at least he does now. There was a time when he preferred to prowl the main cabin. He takes only one person, but leaves everyone else feeling particularly euphoric, like you do after really good sex followed by a good night’s sleep. The person he takes, however, well we’ve learned over time to watch out for them, to make sure they’re well cared for after. It’s … it’s sort of our job, the crew, I mean. Oh he doesn’t compel us or anything, but, well, we all know what it was like.”

“So why don’t you warn people?” I asked running a finger around the rim of my cup.

“It doesn’t work that way. We don’t usually know who it is, and even if we did, he has ways of keeping us from talking.” She waved her hand as though she were waving away an insect. “Oh, it’s nothing sinister. It’s just that he can make us forget … well just about anything.”

I recalled how he had affected her the past night on the plane when she accidently interrupted him. “So, now what?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I now had to cope somehow with living in a world where incubi were real. I needed to understand.

“That depends on you,” she said, leaning over the table. “Those Mr. Sands has visited can always welcoming him back. Obviously he needs to feed, just like a vampire does and, after the initial taking, you’ll never be so drained again. But he won’t come to you unless he knows he’s welcome and,” she smiled at me, “if you ever take the Sands flight again between JFK and Heathrow, well, he’ll just assume that’s permission to play.”

I felt a shiver crawl down my spine, but what began as a frisson of fear settled below my belly, between my legs and the way I squirmed, the slight acceleration of my breathing — well she caught it and nodded knowing. “He’s terrifying and yet too good to resist, believe me, I understand. And I can’t imagine life without him now. Besides,” she looked around the room as though she feared someone might be listening, then leaned closer, ‘there are other … fringe benefits to letting him in. My sex life is way better, and I’m just … well I just feel better about myself, I don’t know, more self-confident, more capable.” She looked down at her watch. “Look, I have to go. I have another flight in the morning and I need to get some rest. Are you okay now?”

I took a deep breath and thought about if for a moment. “I’m fine, yes. Thank you.” Actually, I felt terrific now, better than I could remember feeling in ages.

“Good. I’ll leave you to finish your coffee and order something else if you’re still hungry. Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. Honest.”

As she stood to go, I asked. “What’s his first name?”

“I have no idea. He’s never told us. We call him Mr. Sands because it’s like the whole plane has a visit from the Sandman, only with very pleasant dreams.”

That should have bothered me, I suppose, but it didn’t. I shamelessly ordered round two of breakfast, and when I was too sated to eat another bite, I headed home, anxious to write down my experiences on the Sands Flight. It just felt like something I needed to do. I paid my parking ticket and made my way to the car park feeling as though everyonearound me was looking at me, admiring me somehow. No doubt that was just residual from what had happened to me, but I found I liked that just find. As I stowed my luggage, then settled into the driver’s seat, I caught a glimpse of a tall dark man standing near a black Audi, who seemed to be watching me, and my skin prickled and the muscles below my belly clenched. I was sure it was Mr. Sands. I didn’t have to see him up close and personal to know. I just knew. I smiled to myself. “Hope you enjoyed your dinner,” I said under my breath. “I’m always happy to invite you over.” And I swear to God, the words were barely out of my mouth before I had an orgasm that shook the whole car.

 

Demon Love — Minus the Selfie

I’m talking demon lovers today. Sorry no selfies of me with a demon. All my demon friends are pretty camera shy. I met a woman once who really believed that god was her lover. I spent an afternoon with her while she filled me in on the details. God’s my lover … What does one say to that? The experience stuck with me and kept coming back to me. I often find myself wishing I’d asked more questions, wishing I’d listened more carefully. But of course the whole experience made me nervous. Still, how could the story possibilities now intrigue me? It was from that kernel that In The Flesh was born, teased out from the big question: What if it was true?

There’s certainly lots of evidence in mythology for seduction of mortals by gods and demons — even in the Bible. But what it it were true, here and now? What would that relationship look like, and what happens if that immortal invisible lover has a wandering eye.

 

 

 

In The Flesh Blurb:

When Susan Innes comes to visit her friend, Annie Rivers, in Chapel House, the deconsecrated church that Annie is renovating into a home, she discovers her outgoing friend changed, reclusive, secretive, and completely enthralled by a mysterious lover, whose presence is always felt, but never seen, a lover whom she claims is god. As her holiday turns into a nightmare, Susan must come to grips with the fact that her friend’s lover is neither imaginary nor is he human, and even worse, he’s turned his wandering eye on Susan, and he won’t be denied his prize. If Susan is to fight an inhuman stalker intent on having her as his own, she’ll need a little inhuman help.

 

 

Researching God’s Lovers Excerpt:

 

By the time I finished my breakfast and was ready to go, Annie was already fast asleep, curled in her nest at the foot of
the altar. Outside, the smell of burning rubbish stung my eyes and the back of my throat.

I had little enthusiasm for the handbag sale, nor for lingering at the make-up counter. Instead I found myself in a coffee shop, laptop open researching God’s love life, which turned out to be a long history of seducing humans.

Zeus visited Danae in a shower of gold. He seduced Leda in the form of a swan. Eros came to Psyche in the dead of night forbidding her to look upon his face. Hades dragged Persephone down to the Underworld. The Virgin Mary was impregnated by the god of the Bible. In the New Testament, Christ is the bridegroom, and the church his bride. And the list went on and on. Perhaps even the indwelling of the Holy Spirit was just another way for divinity to experience flesh.

I had always loved mythology, and I’d read all these stories before. I’d just never put them together to get the whole picture. And though I was seeing an aspect of divinity that I found rather disturbing, I couldn’t help feeling there was still a piece of the puzzle missing.

I suppose I should have felt relieved. Annie wasn’t as unusual as I’d thought. God was the ultimate stalker, and he didn’t seem to be very faithful to his lovers. Just Annie’s type. I tried not to think about the implications of my experience in the bath last night. After all, it was just mythology, and I’d had a lot of wine. And there’s never any accounting for my vivid imagination. After all, I was a writer. I made my living as a teller of tales.

“What are you reading?”

I jumped at the sound of Annie’s voice and quickly minimized the page. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m feeling better.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

She leaned down and whispered next to my ear. “My lover’s God, remember? You can’t hide from him.” I barely had time to register shock before she reached down and restored the page.

“Trying to learn a little bit more about him, are we?”  She smiled at the monitor and nodded knowingly. “None of this does him justice. He’s the Hound of Heaven. He’s always pursuing those he loves, and there’s no escaping. Once he’s set his eyes on you, he’ll do whatever it takes to make you his own.”

I suddenly felt cold.

 

 

 

Buy In the Flesh:

eBook:
Amazon UK
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Amazon AU
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iBooks UK

iBooks US
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Smashwords

Print:
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
Createspace
The Book Depository

 

 

“No one writes paranormal fiction like KD Grace. In penning her tales of myths and magic, she plumbs psychological and spiritual depths that most authors don’t even realize exist. Ms. Grace ignores tropes and conventions, following the trail of her stories down the rabbit hole of her own fertile imagination. The truths she unearths amaze, arouse, terrify and delight.” Lisabet Sarai

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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