Purgatory, and Gaire

As she slowly walks toward me I can smell desire. Not human desire, a musky, animalistic desire—essential, dark, and demanding. Her blouse comes off first and she tosses it at my feet, steps out of her cutoffs, and stands before me in a triangle of black lace.Our eyes lock. I feel hair on my neck prickle as my spine shifts and mouth salivates; heart hammering, jaw tightening, I bend and pick up her clothes. She's a breath away, waiting, feet parted, lace riding fingers as she runs them over her hips. I grit my teeth and place the clothes in between pink breasts framed in rich tanned skin; when my knuckles connect with soft creamy flesh my body tightens, prickles another warning, and it's all I can do to keep from taking her right there.


I can hear his heartbeat; I feel the heat of his gaze, the strength behind his touch. Crap! My head is spinning—my head, not the human's I'm wearing. I never do this. I amuse myself and let them do the dreaming, the what-if's, and get off on that. I don't contemplate commitment, relationships, love! I just get my high on. I trade them their lives for a quick fix.Damn it, sex with this guy is not going to be a quick fix. I want...I realize I'm grabbing for my clothes before they fall to the floor, and he's stepping back, shaking his head. What the hell?


Sexy laugh, body to die for, and eyes to get lost in, Gaire intrigues me, attracts me, and churns up feelings I've never felt before.
But he turns out to be the ultimate  bad boy.  I run, and swear never to look back. Only problem is, I can't forget him.






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