Erotic horror short story, part of Riptide’s Bump In The Night anthology, now available from Riptide Publishing and your favorite third-party vendors.
Turn off the lights . . . and turn on your darkest fantasies.
Demon pacts. Ghostly possessions. Monsters lurking in the depths. The things that go bump in the night frighten us, but they also intrigue us. Fascinate us. Even turn us on.
Join us as fan favorites Ally Blue and Kari Gregg bring over-amorous aquatic beasts to life with their mythic twists on the Siren and the monster in the lake. Erotic horror pros Heidi Belleau, Sam Schooler, and Brien Michaels show us just how sexy scary can be with a pair of demon deals destined to curl your toes and set your heart thrashing. And literary masters Laylah Hunter and Peter Hansen weave haunting worlds where ghosts and dead lovers can touch our hearts (and other, naughtier places too . . .) and teach us lessons from beyond the grave.
By turns exciting, evocative, and exquisitely explicit, the stories in Bump in the Night are sure to scratch your sexy paranormal itch. Explore your wildest fantasies with us in this collection of dark erotic tales.
Excerpt from Flesh And Song – © Copyright 2013 Ally Blue
Back on deck, a quick inspection of the water between Ligia and the island told Noah that an offshore reef was guarding the lovely little bay. The waves rolled over the coral without breaking, but that didn’t necessarily mean he could sail across it without tearing open his keel. The depth over a reef could be difficult to judge in a calm like this.
In the end, he elected to ease his lady closer to the reef—though not close enough to cause her damage if she should drift—drop anchor, and take the dinghy to shore. A knapsack full of food, water, and other essentials went with him, having been packed and ready for weeks.
“Good-bye, sweetheart,” he said, leaning over the dinghy’s side to stroke the luscious curve of Ligia’s hull. “I’ll be back soon.”
His answer came in the creak of wood and the solid snap of the breeze in Ligia’s furled sails. He smiled. She’d wait for him, patiently, like she’d done since she’d first become his on his seventeenth birthday
Getting a firm grip on the oars, he began the long pull to shore. Navigating over the reef made him glad he’d anchored Ligia in the deeper water. His little rowboat barely made it, in spite of its shallow draft.
Once he’d gotten clear of the reef, he stopped rowing and glanced over his left shoulder, then his right. Palms swayed at the back of a beach so white it glowed in the sun. He couldn’t see the man he’d spotted through his binoculars.
Not that it mattered. Noah hadn’t come here for sex. He could get that any time he wanted back home in Costa Rica where he ran his high-end surf holiday business, or on any of the islands where he stopped on his frequent sailing trips. The mysterious stranger might be gorgeous, but right now Noah was frankly relieved not to have a human complication to deal with. He had enough on his plate.
When the dinghy’s keel ran aground, Noah jumped out and dragged the wooden boat more firmly onto the beach. The waves hadn’t been large beyond the reef. Here, they’d diminished to tiny, transparent ripples. Still, Noah preferred to play it safe. Just because the island resembled a poet’s vision didn’t mean he wanted to get stranded here. All he wanted was . . .
That was the question, wasn’t it? He’d told himself he wanted the adventure, and whatever profit he could gain, but the truth was he didn’t know what he wanted. Couldn’t define the cause of the vague ache inside him that grew stronger year by year, and had no clue how to ease it, regardless of how much money he made, how many new horizons he explored or how many men he fucked. Thus his quest for this place. Hoping to fill the vacuum inside him with sensation. Experience. New things.
Even the island’s name—Land of Beautiful Death, as they’d called it in Haiti, where he’d first learned of it—had intrigued him. It had never occurred to him to be afraid. What did he have to fear?
With his transportation secured, Noah shouldered his knapsack and turned to survey his surroundings. Beyond the beach and the initial scattering of palms, the ridge he’d seen from Ligia’s deck rose in an unbroken emerald slope on all sides. Leaves rustled, and birds called to one another deep in the forest. The breeze carried a sharp, wild smell like damp earth and flowering vines.
Noah dug his toes into the fine, cool sand. The island felt undiscovered. Untamed. The explorer in him itched to plunge directly into the green gloom beneath the trees and search out its secrets. The treasures hiding in the virgin forest must be spectacular indeed, to warrant the legends that had grown up around this place.
First, however, he needed to secure his campsite. If he got into trouble and didn’t return until close to—or after—dark, he wanted his tent set up and a fire pit ready to go.
Hoisting his pack more firmly onto his back, he strode up the beach and into the shade beneath the palms.
# # #
After he set up his tent, he put on his hiking boots and took a canvas bag out into the woods to look for firewood. Unlike the quiet, peaceful beach, the forest echoed with sounds—birdsong, insects buzzing, the crack and shuffle of branches and leaves and ancient tree trunks moving in the wind, or with the weight of animals, or under their own power for all Noah knew. A strange magic hummed in the air, making impossible things seem probable.
When he caught the first strains of a faint musical lilt from somewhere deeper in the woods, he thought it was a bird. He’d already picked out several calls he’d never heard on any other island. One more wouldn’t surprise him.
Except that this one was unusual. Compelling in a different way than the pretty but meaningless tunes of the birds. The more Noah listened, the more the flow of the enchanting sounds reminded him of words. Fascinated, he set his bag of firewood at the base of a tremendous boulder and slipped through the jungle, following the voice.
Logically, he knew he shouldn’t. He ran a huge risk of becoming lost in the dense press of trees, vines, and undergrowth. But the voice drew him like a compass to true north. He needed to learn what sort of being spoke with music, and what it meant.
The call grew stronger and more captivating as he went. Desperation pushed his body harder, made his pulse rush in his ears and his breath come in great gulps as he ran, faster, faster in search of the source of the sound. He’d die if he didn’t find it.
He crashed into a clearing so suddenly he almost fell over a rocky ledge into the wide blue pool only steps away. He might have, only his feet halted of their own accord when he saw the man standing beneath the little waterfall that fed the pool.
Even with the binoculars, the figure he’d seen on the beach had been indistinct with distance, but Noah would bet his fortune this was the same man—the same dark, glistening skin; the same black hair falling in wet curls to wide, muscular shoulders; the same tall, lean, perfect body bared to the elements. The stranger’s cock sprang from its nest of black hair to swing long, thick, and heavy between his hard thighs.
“Oh, my God.” Noah’s voice emerged soft as a prayer. He hadn’t intended to sound like a worshiper, but could he truly say he wouldn’t fall to his knees to glorify that body?
Across the pool, the man stepped from the waterfall’s flow and met Noah’s gaze with a bright, guileless smile. Stretching a hand toward Noah, the stranger spoke.
Noah leapt into the water—clothes, shoes, and all—and started swimming toward the man before he realized what he was doing. He was halfway across the pool before reason reasserted itself and he wondered, with a spark of panic, just what in the hell had come over him. He slowed, still staring into the beautiful stranger’s eyes—huge eyes black as midnight, black as sin, black as oblivion . . .
His feet hit rock. Long, graceful hands grasped his elbows and hauled him upright, pulling him flush against a naked body whose heat seeped through the cold wetness of his clothes and made him feel warm and safe.
Tilting his head back, he peered up into the stranger’s face. God, such a face. No one could be that exquisite. It wasn’t natural. His mad rush to get to this man wasn’t natural either. What the hell was happening to him?
The fear he’d always scoffed at when the old men warned him of the island’s dangers rose to clog his throat. He planted his palms on the man’s chest—warm, firm, the bare skin silky soft—meaning to push him away.
Those sweet, sensual lips curved into a smile that shook Noah deep inside. One strong arm tightened around his waist. The other hand slid into his hair, the man’s thumb rubbing circles on the angle of Noah’s jaw. Then the stranger spoke again, the words like bells and nightingales, calling up tantalizing shades of meaning in Noah’s mind and making his heart race with a need he didn’t understand. His burgeoning fear melted like butter in the sun.