 Demon's Kiss |
| by Marie Treanor Cover art: Reneé George |
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| ISBN: 978-1-60521-642-3 |
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| Genre(s): Paranormal |
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| Theme(s): Interracial, Shapeshifters, Dark Desire |
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| Length: Novella |
Blurb:
Charlotte is a reformed bad girl, who releases her inner demons through art. But her talent and her disastrous decision to marry a "good" man have attracted powerful interference. When her painting comes to life and her own sexy demon invites her into the orgy she created on canvas, she realizes she can't deny her identity or her desires any longer.
Excerpt:
Demon's Kiss
Marie Treanor
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Marie Treanor
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Charlotte slammed her front door. She hurled her bag across the narrow hall and threw her jacket on top of the heap before striding through the tiny flat like a caged animal.
Trying to break up with someone who believed you were too stupid to know your own mind was infuriating. The old familiar demons were bursting out. She wanted to scream with rage and frustration, smash things, slap James' smug, patronizing face. She wanted to drink to excess and party the night away.
The very idea opened the floodgates of lust. Oh yes, sleazy party before screwing some hot stranger senseless.
Charlotte kicked the kitchen doorframe hard enough to chip the paint and grabbed the kettle, banging it on the counter to check for enough water, then smacking the switch to on.
No, she wouldn't let James do that to her. She wasn't going back there. But the truth was, it didn't matter how good a man James was, she wasn't sure enough of her own feelings anymore. She couldn't marry him.
Charlotte grabbed up her coffee, feeling it slop over her hand, but she ignored the pain as she marched out of the kitchen-living room and across to her small, cluttered bedroom. The painting took up most of one wall and it was ugly, if less disturbing, with its back to the room. Charlotte set down her coffee and turned the canvas around. Tonight, she needed desperately to paint the demons away. It didn't matter that she'd almost run out of canvas, she'd just keep painting over it.
She dragged the old wooden stool to her with one foot and reached for her brushes. She dived straight for the deep, sinful scarlet, lifted her red-dripping brush, and paused as she gazed upon her vision of hell. It was no inferno of agony and suffering; it was, simply, an orgy of pleasure.
In bright, vivid colors, she'd painted food that made your mouth water, goblets decorated with handsome little devils, full of rich, dark red wine. Naked bodies entwined in dance or sex littered the floor and the walls of her hell. Some wore the vacant smiles of chemical or alcohol-induced ecstasy, others expressions of fevered lust or sensual, cat-like satisfaction. One, bending over his tied lover, held a raised whip. A few were eating and drinking off the bodies of others. Many were joined in a tangle of limbs and mouths.
Charlotte couldn't help admiring what she'd done. She'd brought a vital, detailed vision to life, and boy did it provoke a reaction. As usual, she let herself gaze last on the central figure, like a reward.
Tall and splendid in his nakedness, he stood almost in the center of the picture, accepting as his due the besotted, beautiful women who clung to his legs. His luminous dark eyes gazed outward at Charlotte, his black, sloping eyebrows raised, his parted lips revealing the beginnings of a smile -- in all, an expression of such intense, knowing lust on his handsome face that Charlotte's long-celibate body responded in spite of herself. From his totally bald head, down his broad muscled shoulders and chest to his lean, suggestive hips and long, strong thighs, he was the personification of her own sexual need.
Her lust-demon.
His erection, mouth-wateringly long and proud, was thrust forward between the avid gazes of the kneeling women who caressed his thighs. Charlotte had begun painting him as James, to ease the need that couldn't be assuaged, and so he was white and handsome. The James she wanted him to be, all muscle and power and desire for her, only for her. But that wasn't really James and over the weeks, her lust-demon had changed. She no longer even thought of him as James, just the personification of her own wicked, long-denied desires.
He was all her demons rolled into one. Uncontrolled hedonism, sexuality, beauty. She wanted it all. And he was almost perfect.
She shifted on her stool as the wetness of desire flooded between her legs. Familiar heat spread outward, churning her, tingling every nerve. When she slowly lowered the red brush and reached instead for the white flesh-tones she'd already mixed, her pebbled nipples brushed achingly against the fabric of her shirt.
"Oh yes, you're mine," she whispered. "All mine. And I can make you do whatever I want..."
Awareness thrummed through her as she worked -- awareness that her own picture should not be the most powerful lust-object in her life; awareness of her own body as much as that of the demon she'd created. She admired the graceful flexibility of her slender wrist as she worked the brush; she gloried in every wriggle, every sensual movement of her hot, wicked body and the excited tingling of her pussy.
When she'd finished to her satisfaction, she stood up to admire her work, and smiled. Now it was perfect. Her beautiful, sexy demon wasn't just looking at her. He was reaching out for her, commanding her.
She gazed straight into his warm, knowing eyes, letting them heat her further. It was as close to sex as she was likely to get now she'd dumped James before the wedding. But she could imagine. Slowly, she cleaned her hands on the rag from the table and let it drop to the floor. She thought back to her wild student days, giving life and reality to the orgy she'd created on the canvas.
But she'd never had a lover like her beautiful demon. Or at least, if she had, she couldn't remember him. And one would remember him. He had strong features -- those sloping eyebrows, a long, thin nose, broad yet fine cheekbones and full, sensual lips that made her ache to feel them on her mouth, her skin... everywhere.
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