I have yesterday’s winner, but you’ll have to work your way to the bottom of this post to find out who won Kimberly Kaye Terry’s SCREAM MY NAME. Today’s prize will be an autographed copy of DARKNESS BURNING!
Like I said yesterday, each of these stories is standalone, but if you want to enjoy the full series, there is an order to the books. I’ve included two excerpts. The first you may already have seen. The second, sexier excerpt is one I’ve never shared.
Lust trapped them in darkness…only love can free them…
Petra Pedersen has lived as a recluse all her life thanks to a genetic double whammy—a strange deformity and a shameful power inherited from the father she will never know. The power to incite lust in men and women with just a touch.
Exploring the garden of the mansion she’s just inherited, she comes across a fascinating stone gargoyle whose raw, passionate expression draws her to caress its broad chest. Her imagination follows her fluttering fingers. As she closes her eyes and gives herself up to the arousal, something shifts beneath her touch.
Long ago, failure to stop a demon battle trapped Octavius in a prison of stone. Freed by the woman’s incendiary touch, he doesn’t hesitate to unleash his pent-up rage and desire in a blistering fury. Yet once the haze of lust clears, he discovers he isn’t really free after all.
They are both trapped in another realm where he must choose between his last chance for redemption or returning Petra home…
Warning: Sex with inanimate objects, lusty m/m/f ménages with gods…it’s all good when the reward is freedom.
Octavius rammed his shoulder against the heavy oak door. The lock and hinges gave and the door crashed backward with a satisfying thud, raising dust that sifted through the air like silver-gilt fireflies in the moonlight. Wary, he stepped across the threshold. Inside, the house was dark, the air thick—too heavy to be natural.
He knew, without reeling in the psychic tether that kept him chained to the Grigori, that Bacclum was here. That the bastard had found the demon. He prayed he wasn’t too late to save Bacclum from his own insatiable lust for power. The consequences of his failure would mean his own end.
He should have known that Bacclum planned mischief that night. The mixed-blood angel had been too eager to see Octavius take a rare walk among humans, encouraging him to attend a masked ball at a wealthy residence inside the French Quarter.
While Octavius had enjoyed the rare opportunity to mingle among sweet-smelling women, secretly laughing as he pretended a lever inside his vest controlled the movement of his wings and thrilling to the many strokes of soft hands along his ribbed folds, Bacclum had snuck away. But not before he’d assured himself that his watcher’s vigilance had been dulled by the herbs stirred into his drink. If Octavius hadn’t noted the uneasy glances of the sloe-eyed woman who’d gulled him, he might have drunk the full measure. As it was, his head still swam and his loins throbbed with unabated lust.
The sound of crashing furniture and the low rumble of a masculine voice drew him up the staircase and down a hallway toward the sliver of golden light, fanning outward from a partially opened doorway. Sliding his back close to the wall, he gently pushed open the door and peered around the corner into a room lined with shelves of books.
Bacclum’s dark head was bent toward his chest, his thighs braced around the demon, his hands wrapped around a straining throat.
I’m not too late, thank the gods. “Let go, Bacclum!” Octavius growled as he stalked toward the Grigori steadily strangling the demon he clasped.
“Not until he gives me what I want.” Bacclum grunted, his face screwing into a fierce grimace. “I want all of it.”
Octavius stepped deeper into the library then felt a slight, telltale rumbling beneath his feet.
Bacclum seemed unaware of the heightening danger, so intent was he on murdering the demon and claiming his power for his own.
Octavius cursed beneath his breath. He should have suspected what Bacclum had intended when he’d entered this demon’s realm. The angel’s thirst for power was unquenchable. The council had warned Octavius long ago of Bacclum’s unrelenting quest, but he’d believed the core of the creature squeezing the life force from the demon was good and honorable. He’d believed that Bacclum understood the uneasy balance that had to be maintained between the forces of light and darkness. In the end, he’d misjudged him, underestimating his need for vengeance. Now it was up to him alone to set this right.
Octavius folded his wings forward, scraping the leathery tips against Bacclum’s slick, hot skin, intending to wrap his wings around Bacclum’s face and smother him into unconsciousness. The rumbling increased, fed by the faint chanting echoing inside his head. The demon was far from vanquished.
“Let go, Bacclum,” he roared, leaning closer to pull Bacclum back, but something lashed around his own wrists. Invisible bonds tightened then jerked him off his feet.
He landed on the floor on his knees and growled. The air around them grew dank and humid like a demon’s breath, and the voice chanting in an ancient tongue inside his head grew louder and stronger.
The house shivered violently. The wood flooring creaked. Windows rattled then shattered. Glass shards, like silvery projectiles, peppered his wings and back and shredded his clothing, drawing blood from hundreds of cuts.
Bacclum’s head jerked back and canted to the side. At last, he’d caught the chanting voice and had to know he’d awakened the demon’s inner fire.
The breeze sweeping through the shattered window intensified and swirled around the room, tightening into a devil wind that picked up more slivers of glass and jagged bits of shattered furniture that pinged against the paneled walls but sank into tender flesh.
Octavius’s chest, back and wings were flayed, scraped raw. He reared back, fighting the phantom manacles holding him. Suddenly he was wrenched from the ground and held still inside the fulcrum of the whirlwind.
With only a moment to suck in a deep breath, he was flung forward, forced to ride the arc of an invisible whip, then shot backward like a cannonball through the gaping window onto fragrant grass.
Frogs croaked. Crickets chirped. Moonlight silvered the damp grass. He shook his head clear and ripped off the ragged clothing hanging from the belt at his waist.
Freed at last, he knelt, breathing deeply and gathering strength. He flared his wings and dug his knuckles into the turf. He pushed upward—but his feet never left the ground. His wings never caught the wind beneath their leathery folds.
Frozen, first by horror, then irreversibly by magic, he could only stand there, his terrified gaze watching as his body was slowly consumed, inch by inch, by stone.
Gently, he cupped her cheek and tilted back her head. He read a lonely yearning in her gaze, and instantly, his stone-cold heart softened. “Let me give you this.” He kissed her lips softly, gliding his tongue along her lower lip before sweeping inside to taste her lush mouth.
Her breath eased inside him, warm, humid, but sweeter than a demon’s. A halfling creature. She could have been crafted exactly for his needs.
He was tall, heavy compared to even the most developed man. Yet her long, supple frame wasn’t dwarfed by his. Her sturdy build could withstand his weight, his punishing strokes. Already, she’d taken him inside her body without complaint. His cock still rested deep, surrounded by moist, rippling heat.
Deep inside, her body recognized he was her match.
Drawing back, he glided his hand down her neck, over the swell of her breast. He cupped her there, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the beaded tip. Her breasts were small in proportion to her size, merely a rounded bulge, topped with small, cone-like nipples. Velvety soft nipples.
His mouth watered, staring at them, and he grasped her hips and lifted her, dragging her off his cock until just the tip of him was still within the grasp of her wet cunt. He lowered his mouth to her breast and traced the soft circle with his tongue.
Her body vibrated against him. Her next gasp was a strangled mewl.
He sucked the tip between his lips and rubbed it with his tongue, rooting more hungrily against the tender swell of her breast until her sex began to caress the head of his cock in exquisitely moist “kisses”.
Octavius groaned and drew away, leaning his head against her shoulder. “So sweet,” he murmured.
“Please, gargoyle. Please taste the other,” she whispered.
He smiled, pressed a kiss against her hot skin and traversed her chest to latch onto the other nipple.
There, he rooted wildly against her, suckling like a starving man, drawing hard on her nipple until she quivered inside his embrace.
“I must move,” she moaned.
Not a growl but a groan this time forced its way past his lips. The sweet desperation in her eyes fed his own heat. “Not yet. I fear it will be over too quickly.”
“Gargoyle,” she said, more loudly, her hands threading through his close-cropped hair and tugging hard.
“Octavius. Call me by my name.”
“Octavius,” she said breathlessly, undulating her hips and circling on his cock. “Lord, you don’t feel any different than when you were stone.”
“You make me this way.” He bit her nipple, ignored her feminine yelp, then grasped her buttocks in his hands and moved her up and down his shaft.
She eagerly consumed him, throwing back her head and holding onto his shoulders as he moved her how he wished. The slow drugging movements, stroking up and down his cock, had him squeezing his eyes shut, so delicious were the sensations sweeping through him.
But he wanted more, wanted to let loose. Needed to hear her cries change from gentle gasps and moans to sensual screams.
He ground his jaws together, deciding to take the chance, and lifted her fully off his cock. He held her still above him for a moment, waiting, but the cool tightening that had preceded his imprisonment didn’t happen.
“Please,” she said, writhing in his grasp. “Don’t stop now. You’ve convinced me we should share this. Don’t be cruel.”
“I want you on your knees.” He set her away from him, pausing again, as she jerkily went to her knees and turned, presenting her rounded bottom.
Octavius flared his wings, beating them down twice as primal satisfaction filled his chest. The moist center of her gleamed. Her pussy swelled. When he stroked his fingers over her, he found her hot and moist. He pushed her bottom until her chest fell to the ground and then he leaned down and opened his mouth to suck her folds into his mouth.
“Sweet, sweet God,” she groaned. And then her pussy pulsed, the opening clasping rhythmically, inviting him to enter her with his tongue and his fingers.
His body hardened like the marble he’d been. If she’d glanced back once, she would have remembered her fear, because he knew his features were tightening, growing feral. He barely suppressed the rumbling growls that shook his chest, trying to squeeze past his tight throat as he entered her, tonguing her salty cream, stroking her hot walls until more moisture seeped from inside her.
His wings trembled as his fervor built. He spread her folds and thrust two fingers inside her, enjoying the spasms clasping around the digits as her bottom began to rock counter to the strokes he delivered.
Finally, he could hold himself from her no longer. He kissed her quivering bottom and rose to kneel behind her, guiding her ass back until his cock met her entrance. He clamped his hands around the notches of her hips and thrust forward, driving himself deep into her body.
The winner of Kimberly Kaye Terry’s SCREAM MY NAME is…Lisa J!