Tropical Moon Chapter Two

Chapter Two



    Tousled hair, glossy black as a raven’s wing, blew around his head as he stood on the moonlit beach, the lagoon shrouded by jungle. A light breeze rippled the water, slow waves approaching the thin strip of white sand. Broad shoulders, his entire naked body, in fact, gleamed under the full moon. He turned, fixing glittering silver eyes on her as she stared, awed, at pure male perfection.

    Her avid gaze roamed over him, taking in well-defined muscles and the thick, rigid cock he showed no shame in allowing her to ogle. A satisfied expression flashed over his face, the stark planes and angles striking, as though he belonged to the night.

    “Gorgeous,” she murmured on a slow breath, unable to stop staring at him.

    Full sculpted lips curved in a brilliant smile, teeth gleaming white. He said nothing, only watched her with an intensity that stunned her senses.

    She swallowed hard, her gaze lingering on his face before sliding over every inch of him from head to toe and back to those unusual eyes. They snared her, trapped her in sparkling silver pools.

    Amy shook her head, focusing with calm deliberation on her computer screen, but the image, the man, didn’t vanish from her mind. Where did he come from?  Determined, she scrolled back to the beginning of the fight scene in her latest story and started reading. The scene had plagued her for days before fixing itself in her head. Now, half-way through writing it, concentration failed her. The man in her head came between her and writing, a highly unusual occurrence.

    Frowning, she started at the beginning again, but fared no better the second time, or the third, or even the tenth. “Damn it,” she muttered to the unknown man flickering through her mind. “Leave me alone!”

    She clicked on the instant messaging icon on the bottom of the screen. “Charli, you’re not going to believe this. There’s a man in my head. He won’t leave me alone so I can write!”

    A few seconds later, Charli replied, “Is he gorgeous?”

    Typing, Amy smirked. “Gorgeous is an understatement. He should be outlawed, never allowed near women. He’s not even real, but he’s breath-taking. I’m trying to finish a fight scene that was perfect in my head. Now I can’t concentrate. He won’t go away.”

    “Maybe he wants to be in the story,” Charli suggested, adding a winking smiley face to the IM.

    “Not in this one, but maybe if I write a description or a short scene—I keep seeing him on a moonlit lagoon beach—he’ll leave me alone for a while.”

    “It’s worth a try. You gonna let me read it?”

    “You read everything else I write. Sure, I’ll send it.” Then maybe I can finish this fight!

    Used to characters rambling around in her head, more often than not from several different stories, Amy shrugged as she opened a new Word file and began typing. Her fingers moved slowly at first, and then faster as the man solidified in her thoughts, taking over. She moved beyond what he looked like and where he was, writing herself into a scene so blazing hot the breath caught in her throat and her heart raced.

    Sex on sand never appealed to her before, but the vivid fantasy etched her mind like a diamond cutting glass. Good God, where did all that come from? Her pulse thundered in her ears. So real!

    After putting everything into an email, she messaged Charli again. “You got mail! It went way beyond description, so crystal clear and stunning it might have actually happened!”

    “Goody, more reading,” Charlie answered. “Hot, eh?”

    “Scorching. The sun is a glacier compared to that little interlude.”

    “Wow! Off to read!”

    Waiting for Charli’s thoughts, Amy sipped coffee and let the intense erotic scene roll through her mind. Not just a scene, it sucked her out of reality into deeply sensual fantasy.



    Staring out the window, into the deep dark jungle, his mind picked another image out of nowhere. A secluded lagoon, and the dark haired girl he’d envisioned earlier naked on the beach. “Knock it off,” Damien ordered himself. “You’re not a fledgling. She’s not even real.”

    She is and you need her. Knowledge flared in his mind and he shook his head, heading through the kitchen into his bedroom. With the door locked and bolted, he undressed and slid under satin sheets, waiting for sleep’s dark embrace.

    In a highly aroused state, however, sleep eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, she assaulted him, walking stark naked over the silver sand, hair flowing dark and shiny under the glare of the full moon. It tumbled around her shoulders, a riotous tangle he longed to thread his fingers through, gripping tight as he held her against him and plundered. He let out a frustrated groan, tinged with desire, and rolled to his back. Satin brushed his erection as though her fingers roamed bare flesh.

    “Christ,” he muttered, hoarse with rising desire. With it, hunger roared through him, a need for blood as well as the woman. His eyes snapped open to the austere bedroom used only for sleeping, and he pictured her there, rolling over satin sheets, her limbs tangled with his as he…

    “Get a grip,” he snarled, pushing the sheet off his sensitized body. The mere flick of the sheet brushing his skin shot more adrenaline-laced blood to his throbbing cock. “Go to sleep.” He closed his eyes--and plunged headlong into searing fantasy.



    As naked as she, Damien strode out of the jungle, across the sand, and stood in front of her. She looked up, sapphire blue eyes glittering at him. Lush lips pursed in surprise at his sudden appearance, but she didn’t back away, only stared at him. The breeze blew her hair, a rich, dark brown, past her shoulders. Bare breasts, pale silver in the moonlight, drew his attention. He reached out, sliding the tip of his finger over the gentle swell of soft flesh, flicking over her nipple, already peaked and straining toward him. The sensation, unbelievably intense, shot through him. His cock stood at attention, yearning for the heat of her velvet pussy closing around him.

    “Who are you?” The question emerged as a demand rather than a request. “You can’t be real, yet you invade my thoughts, my mind.”

    “No less than you invade mine,” she declared. Fire flashed in her eyes, blue flames searing him to all the way to his soul.

    Captivated by that display of rising temper, he shifted closer. Her heat surrounded him as he trailed a finger over her cheek, down her neck, lingering on the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat. Blood scent drew him as much as the musky scent of her arousal. He leaned toward her, inhaling the intoxicating perfume she exuded. “Are you wet for me? If I touch you, will I find you dripping honey, eager for more?”

    Her throat worked, lips parting, but no sound emerged. Unable to stop himself, he wrapped an arm around her waist, dragged her against his solid chest, and fastened his mouth to hers. Blazing through every cell in his body, that fierce hunger spread like wildfires. Drowning in her essence, he couldn’t stop or pull back as her lips moved under his, tentative at first and then more brazen as she tangled her tongue with his. Passion erupted, scorching senses and consuming him. Jesus, like trying to cage a roaring forest fire!

    I’ll say. She slid into his mind with astonishing ease.

    Damien jerked back, glaring down into passion glazed eyes. She squirmed in his arms, breasts rubbing his bare chest. That delicate friction short-circuited his brain and he lost all thought except the amazing feel of her slender, curvy body against his hard one. Gripping her ass, he pulled her into his fierce arousal, burying his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder.

    The hot, spicy scent of blood called to his starving cells, demanding he satiate a more basic hunger. He fastened his mouth to the throbbing vein along her neck, fangs plunging deep as her blood poured down his throat.

    With a soft cry of pain, she clutched at him but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let go. Her blood sparked new fires, new hungers. Merged tight with her, as pain faded and passion blazed once more, she clung to him. More.

    That soft plea echoed in his mind as he drank, savoring the unique flavors of her life force. Life, strength, passion—everything that made her unique flowed into him, setting his senses on fire. Only as she slumped in his arms, her weight dragging at him as her heart stuttered in his ears, did he lift his mouth from the delectable feast.

    Alarm clawed at his gut. He looked into her face, pale, eyes closed, her breathing labored. Shit! Taking the only route left to him before she died in his arms, he bit into his wrist and held it to her lips. His mind surrounded hers, commanding her to drink. Her lips moved feebly against his skin.  Come on, baby, you need this. Don’t die on me!



    Eyes snapping open in the darkness, Damien sat bolt upright, that last command ringing in his ears. Don’t die on me! Drenched in cold sweat, skin clammy, sheets tangled around waist and legs, he gasped for breath and struggled to slow his racing heart. He blinked, bringing the bedroom into stark focus. Bed, chest of drawers, closet door—all of it crystal clear in his nocturnal vision, familiar and welcome. As his heart rate slowed, he let out a slow breath of relief. “Just a dream,” he muttered. “A stupid dream.”

    Wait. He frowned. Vampires don’t dream. Then what…?

    With a sharp shake of his head, he pushed the images from his mind, but the terror lingered, smothered in denial as he left the rumpled bed.