Sunday, August 24, 2008

Excerpt: Gray Man by KZ Snow

Emma Moore’s vacation along the lower New England seaboard had everything to do with bolstering her flagging relationship and nothing to do with finding ghosts. But when an eerie entry written in archaic script shows up in her diary, she suspects it might be related to the shadowy figure suddenly clinging to her boyfriend’s back.
A shockingly orgasmic ride on a theme-park roller coaster and the mystifying utterances of a psychic stranger only strengthen Emma’s suspicion that something, or some$one, is going bump—and hump—in the night. Getting to the bottom of this disturbing yet compelling phenomenon seems her only recourse.
Leaving her lawyer-boyfriend behind in Boston to pursue his work and possibly an affair, Emma returns to the historic Connecticut inn where the intensely passionate Gray Man first appeared. What she discovers and experiences there bring her the most wrenching sadness and exhilarating hope she’s ever known…and the realization that there are no bounds in time and space any more than there are in the ocean that lies beyond her window.

* * * * *


Emma spun around. Alan, his face peppered with a sandy growth of whiskers, was sitting up in bed, watching her. He ran both hands over his head and stretched backward. Emma’s shock gave way to curiosity. She squinted, peered at him. There was something—
He frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Why indeed. Was his body casting a shadow against the headboard? Emma’s gaze shifted to the windows and followed the course of the incoming light. Yes, it was possible. But… “I, uh, was just wondering how you’d look with a beard and mustache.”
Alan’s right hand immediately went to the lower half of his face and rubbed it. “Don’t even go there,” he said.
“Alan, did you happen to get up in the middle of the night and go into the sitting room?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “No. Why would I do that?” Sliding to the edge of the bed, he yawned, scratched the middle of his chest and got up. “I slept like a log last night.” He shuffled toward the bathroom.
Emma’s mouth fell open as she followed his progress. The shadow that was behind him in bed was still behind him, hovering at his back like some gauzy gray kite he was toting over his shoulder. It had a vaguely human form, but taller than Alan’s. Taller and unsettled, like a swath of fog.
What the hell? Staring at the closed door, Emma was tempted to enter the bathroom and watch Alan as he shaved and showered. But no, she couldn’t do that. He was very adamant about maintaining “the privacy of the toilette.” She simply had to put this morning’s peculiar start out of her mind and concentrate on getting ready to leave.
“Damn, that’s right,” she muttered, remembering they were going to Six Flags today. She would much rather have continued along the Connecticut shore, but she’d already committed to the change of plan.
Emma gathered their things. She knew that when Alan emerged from the bathroom, he’d head straight for his wireless notebook. That damned computer was his best friend. While she bathed and dressed, he’d first check his email, then he’d look up driving directions, park hours and attractions, any and every little bit of information he could glean before they left Saybrook. He was like that. Fussy, meticulous.
Emma would have preferred a superheated, slippery fuck in the shower and a leisurely, meandering stroll or drive. But neither was going to happen.
Well, maybe the damned park will be closed today, she thought, hoping beyond hope.
Standing over her suitcase, Emma paused. She hesitantly lifted the diary out of its pocket and, with trembling fingers, turned to last night’s entry.
The word was still there.
* * * * *
As the coaster’s train smoothly shot forward, she felt something startling and inexplicable—the gentle probing of fingers between her legs. They soon glided along the lining of her labia. She knew within seconds this wasn’t a seam rubbing against her. With a sharp intake of breath, Emma tried not to fidget in the seat. She glanced at Alan. Both his hands were firmly wrapped around the safety bar. Besides, she was wearing panties and jeans. But, somehow, this touch was inside her clothing.
The gliding continued, soon becoming a firm, directed pressure that closed in ever-tightening circles around her clit. Emma began to make tiny mewling sounds. It didn’t matter. Surely nobody could hear her. The train had begun its agonizing crawl up the two hundred foot hill. In the low, near distance, a river glimmered.
Emma felt lips and tongue join the fingers that teased her. On each beat of the slow, ratcheting clicka-clacka from beneath the coaster’s rails, a finger probed her vagina, a tongue flicked over her clit. Clicka-clacka…on each mechanical tick, soft lips plucked at her sensitized bud. Emma’s body jerked delicately as her eyelids fluttered and closed. A delicious, mounting tension seized her body—a tension both matched and underscored by the coaster’s ascent up the steep, steep rise. Her pussy seemed to clench around the stimulation it was getting, touches that were ever more persuasive, then insistent. The moist caress of lips and tongue. The precise pressure of roving fingers.

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