Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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I was riding the high from kissing tabby cat, a little dazed and disoriented as I strode toward the guest bedrooms where Valarie and I were settled for the weekend. I could still taste Tabitha's sweet kisses on my lips. Her soft scent of roses lingered on my clothes. And the residual feel of her breathy sighs and moans that vibrated against my tongue was a melody I couldn't get out of my head. Every single atom hummed inside my body as if I'd come alive. I felt lighter than I had in months. There was a bounce in my step and everything was brighter. The colors in the hallways and oil paintings were awash with a gem-like vividness.
Underneath all that primness Tabitha was a fucking wildcat.
She'd barely let me up for air. My lips were kiss-swollen and raw. My scalp throbbed dully where she'd pulled at my hair. And my shoulders and chest stung where she'd raked her nails. But hells if I didn't like it. I fucking loved it.
She'd fisted my hair and I let her. She'd bitten my lips and I nipped her back. She'd writhed and cried out for more and I'd given in to her. I'd easily, so easily sank beneath the waves of her sweetly-laced wickedness, and forgotten about everything wrong in my life, and who I was.
She. Had. Touched. Me.
In some pathetically grateful way I was relieved that everything was still in working order.
Hells, yes.
It had been half a year since I'd gone on that screw-you-Irma-Szarvas tour of revenge-fucking, and shortly afterward when I'd given it up, no pretty face or generous cleavage or direct offer had stirred interest.
I ran the flat of my palm down my chest, puffing out a gusty breath, not able to stop the stupid grin. Holy hells-gate. I had been so into this girl for the past hour, my cock ached like a motherfucker. It strained against my pants' zipper so hard it was either going to bust through, or the metal teeth were going to injure my cock. And I sure as hells wasn't okay with that. I needed a cold shower, a freezing-ass kind of cold shower to cool down. Or, I needed to jerk off.
My swollen cock bobbed in agreement.
Duly noted.
I slowed down as I approached the oak wooden door to my room, taking a moment to blow out a deep breath, roll my shoulders, and run a series of ridiculous math problems through my head just to soften the fucker. I entered my bedroom, and the soles of my shoes were cushioned by the fuchsia shag carpet. The nicest part of this room was the opulent bathroom, the rest of it...I couldn't even begin to bend my mind around. I'd been given a fluffy pink bedroom, papered in some sort of spine-shuddering chintzy pattern. Shabby chic my sister called it when we'd been escorted here last night.
Valarie had howled in laughter at the foul expression on my face when I'd encountered all the offensive frills and gingham and weird tie-dyed furnishings, with enormous sunflower rugs adorning the thick carpet. It looked like a graveyard where every tacky trend had come to perish. It had matching lava lamps for fucks sake, along with creepy cowhide lampshades and leather tassels, a princess phone studded with rhinestones, and a godsdamned disco ball hanging from the ceiling. Not to mention the abundant collection of porcelain ducks and swans gracing the walls amongst the macramé string whatever-the-fuck artwork. I'd started referring to my room as Chateaux Crappo.
