At That Hour Read online

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Janet Eckford

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright.

  This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Published by

  Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC

  PO Box 61

  Colfax, NC 27235

  www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

  Cover Art: Marteeka Karland, http://www.marteekakarland.com/

  Editor: Cindy Davis, http://www.fiction-doctor.com/

  Proofreader: Novellette Whyte

  http://authorgurunovellette.blogspot.com/

  Formatter: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  E-book Conversion: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/

  ISBN: (e-book) 978-1-61788-237-1

  For those readers that appreciate not only the sweet tongue but a sharp tooth as well.

  NOTE ABOUT EBOOKS

  eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

  CAVEAT

  This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.

  I

  Lauren could feel him watching her as she left the Irish Pub where she’d gone to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day with some of her friends—waiting just there beyond the shadows but never actually making his presence known. There was an awareness between them that kept her attuned to his every move, like a link in some invisible chain that now bound her to him.

  Inside the stuffy confines of the pub, the feel of his gaze across the bare skin of her shoulders was like the softest of caresses. She imagined his fingertips lightly trailing along the slope of her shoulder toward the ridged lines of her collarbone and dipping down to caress the soft swell of her breasts. Shivering at the thought of such an intimate caress she headed in the direction of her apartment.

  It was a short walk to her little bit of sanctuary, but she’d had to stave off concerns about her taking the journey alone. She couldn’t have anyone else with her tonight because he would stay neatly tucked away in the shadows, never crossing her doorstep if there was another with her. That wouldn’t do because she had plans for her silent observer. Plans that involved not the caress of his eyes on her but of his hands on her body, those strongly muscled hands that could be just as cruel as they were kind. Stroking her until she purred with satisfaction and completion.

  As she moved further and further from the sounds of revelry and cheer the silence of the night seemed to engulf her. There was a stillness that only heightened her awareness that he was out there, watching and waiting, tracking her with focused intensity that caused her body to heat and liquefy into a puddle of sexual awareness. She often wondered what that focused intensity of his would be like in the confines of her room, without the distractions of the world to interrupt.

  Lauren shivered as a soft breeze whispered across her skin and she thought how nice it would be when it was his hot breath there instead. Blowing on skin cooled after the exertion of the friction their bodies would make with one another. Would he use his tongue to gently lap at the salty sweet taste of her skin or would his lips instead make promises to her flesh that his words could never express?

  She wanted to run those last few feet to her doorstep but she didn’t want the chase to end so quickly. He’d stalked her for hours and to give in so quickly wouldn’t be the proper reward for all his hard work. Instead she forced herself to go slow, to place one foot in front of the other and count the steps until she was home. It was blissfully torturous in its non-fulfillment and it made her wonder if he’d make her wait when he had her writhing beneath him begging for release, keeping her balanced on that fine edge of completion as he stroked and caressed her body relentlessly.

  The sight of her apartment almost made her cry out with joy. She was so close to coming, thinking about him doing all the naughty things she had planned. Pressing her key into the lock she paused, listening to the night sounds. She knew that he was there, silent and patient, hoping that tonight would be different, that she would finally broker a full invitation instead of her initial one given in haste.

  The thrill of her “what if” coming to life made her want to prolong the inevitable just a little more. Maybe she should let him wait in the shadows he loved so dearly and continue to watch her from afar a few seconds more. Or should she wait until he was in her bed, hot and heavy in her hand, desiring to be wrapped in the warmth of her mouth to see the limits of his patience? Would she tease him, gently stroke him with just the tips of her fingers or would she use the tip of her tongue instead? She imagined watching his body arch with unspent desire as she finally gave him what he wanted, what they both wanted. Stepping through her doorway, she knew she couldn’t tease and withhold at this point in their silent little game of cat and mouse. She was hot and needy and knew he was the only one who could give her what she craved, so she opened her mouth and said, “You can come in.”

  II

  She had barely uttered the invitation. He was there before her next breath. She expected him to gather her up where she stood, carry her to bed, and make love to her like her fantasy dictated, but he was no white knight. He also didn’t pounce on her like some great feline beast that now had its toy. Instead he flowed into the room as if he was made of smoke and sound. The soft rustle of his clothing the only indicator that he had entered. She should have been startled, but the anticipation of things to come stifled any wayward feelings of doubt she may have had. Shutting her door she turned to face him and noticed that he still clung to the shadows as if the little light in the room was too bright for what he planned.

  “Won’t you come out so I can see you?” she asked.

  “What is it you would like to see?” His husky reply was like the softest caress along her body.

  She’d imagined what his voice would sound like but fantasy could never have conjured up a pitch and cadence that was the audio expression of sexual desire and need. She wracked her brain in hopes of finding ways to get him to speak one more word or phrase but she realized that would be a waste of such a superb sound. Instead she would wait until they were pressed tightly together and he was fitted so deeply inside her that his whispered words of seduction cause her body to quake and release.

  “You. I want to see you,” she whispered back.

  “Are you sure?”

  The hesitancy in his question caused her to pause. Did he doubt her, doubt her intentions, after all this time and energy she’d put into getting him to notice her. Scowling, she took a step toward him but paused—no, she thought, she’d done her part and now he would have to do his.

  “Are you sure?” She turned his question back on him and watched as his body shifted ever so slightly.

  She could tell he was su
rprised by her bold behavior. Smirking she wondered if he expected her to be a shrinking violet, shocked at the intensity of her own sexual desires. She’d come too far for false modesty. When he shifted slightly and moved further out of the shadows, she couldn’t help taking in a small breath. He was large, broad, and as he moved further into the light he still seemed to be shrouded in a type of wickedly dangerous appeal. No, he was no white night or darkly cloaked villain—he was something beyond myth and lore.

  She’d become accustomed to him watching her unseen but with the sharp gaze of his emerald green eyes tracing the lines and curves of her body she felt like she’d never felt the weight of his gaze before. He was electric in his intensity and she imagined how it would feel to have him visually devouring her while she lay bare before him on the crisp cotton sheets of her bed. Would he take his time drinking in the sight of her before he lowered his lips to the most sensitive part of her body for his first real sip?

  “You’re excited?” His words caused her body to tingle and moisten with desire.

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  His laugh was unexpected but not unwanted. Rich and full like her favorite red wine, it seemed to warm her from the inside out. She was mesmerized by the flash of brilliantly white teeth, and lips that formed into a devilish smile. For the briefest of moments when those lush lips of his curved into a knowing grin she felt a flare of panic. He was so far beyond all she could have expected, what she could have desired, or what her mind had conjured. Would she be enough, could she be enough for…for—

  “Stop.”

  The sound of his command caused the whirlwind of her doubting thoughts to cease their incessant niggling inside her brain. Lauren watched as he unfolded himself completely from the shadows and walked toward her. Her body softened at the thought of all that mass resting snuggled between her thighs. She knew he would stretch her until she fit only him, and the thought of the pleasant ache of muscles used and abused in the most delicious of ways caused her to let out a little sigh of happiness.

  “You know what it means to call me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in her words.

  He was only a breath away from her now and she could make out the structure of his face, dangerously beautiful with its firm lines and lush mouth. His dusky colored skin provided the perfect contrast to his thickly lashed emerald eyes and she could see both promise and desire reflected in them. When he smiled, those perfect teeth of his peeked out from a mouth made for kissing and the tiny little points of his fangs signaled his desire. She shuddered with pleasure

  She wondered what it would feel like when he dragged them slowly across the sensitive skin of her neck. Nipping and sucking, simulating what it would be like when he took that final plunge and truly broke the last barrier between them, taking what she had to offer and giving more than she could ever expect. Her body flushed with the intensity of her desire and she let it be reflected back at him through her eyes.

  This time when he smiled it was there, the knowledge that she was his and he practically glowed from within.

  “Then come to me,” he whispered.

  III

  There was no pretense when he gathered her in his arms, no hesitancy, or awkwardness. His mouth found hers and he devoured it as if it was the most delicious of all rare delicacies. She had never felt anything like it before and she knew that she never would unless it was with his mouth on hers and his hands on her body, working their way under the loose fabric of her dress. She clutched at his shoulders encapsulated in his leather jacket because her legs had long since failed to support her weight. She was awash in senses, and minor things like fine motor skills were of no use to her.

  “Maram,” she whispered, when he pulled back to allow her a breath he did not need.

  He watched her with his darkly dangerous intensity and she realized she had used his name for the first time since that night she had called him. The sound of her labored breathing and the rapid thudding of her heart drumming to a beat both primal and enticing were the only sound she heard as he stared at her. His hands abandoned their journey along her thighs and instead moved to cradle her head between them. When he leaned down and placed the softest of kisses upon her lips she felt as if she had shattered and reformed in an image that only he could recognize.

  “So long. I have waited so long.” He breathed the words against her lips as if he was breathing life itself into her and she sighed from the pleasure of it.

  This time when he kissed her it was slow and measured in its intensity. His hands resumed their forgotten journey, but there was a purpose that had been lacking before and as the tips of his fingers found her wet and waiting, a shudder gripped her body that she felt all the way to her toes. This time she wouldn’t need whispered words of desire, or slick skin pressed against slick skin, or the gentle give and take of two bodies dictating their own unique rhythm. No, as he lowered them to the ground, lifting her skirt as he moved her panties aside, she knew that the first time would be wanton and primal. Arching her back, she lifted her neck as an invitation only he would get and as he pushed himself inside of her and sank his teeth even deeper she reveled in the intensity of this moment and thought fondly of the many more yet to come.

  JANET

  To read similar stories by Janet, check out:

  Love Unfurled

  JANET ECKFORD

  Like most great superheroes (or super-villains, depending on who’s telling the story) Janet Eckford lives a double life. By day Janet is a mild-mannered crusader for justice (or nefarious deeds, depending on who’s telling the story) and by night an indestructible creator of prose (or pathological liar, depending on who’s telling the story) while munching on her favorite cookies—oatmeal raisin. A native West Coaster who hails from the sunny state of California Janet, has loved the romance genre ever since she convinced her dad it was required reading when she was eleven. Janet believes love shouldn’t have a color code and strives to create stories that represent that belief.

  Send her your praise and adoration and she will return it in kind.

  [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Title page

  I

  II

  III

  JANET ECKFORD

 

 

  Janet Eckford, At That Hour

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