As I mentioned a few months ago, I am reading the Anita Blake series by Laurell K. Hamilton, which starts with Guilty Pleasures. Onto book 8: Blue Moon! I’m reading about 175 pages a week. Each week, I’ll be bringing you two posts: a review of the book and a related kinky post. This is my sexy story!
Description from Goodreads: When she chose master vampire Jean-Claude over her ex-fiancé, alpha werewolf Richard Zeeman, Anita learned that sometimes love is not enough. But though she and Richard won’t be walking down any aisles, she can’t turn her back on him when he’s arrested on a rape charge in Tennessee. Anita knows firsthand that Richard has the morals of a saint—or at least a boy scout. But his guilt or innocence is not the issue. He’s behind bars, and in five days a full moon will rise…
#8 Blue Moon Part 1 (Ch 1-27)
Dreams. We all have them. But have you ever had a dream so sexy that it woke you up mid-orgasm? I imagine that dream would be different for each of us, but I can tell you that I have had that happen to me once upon a time. I think my dream would be a little different now, but there might be some similar threads…
Blue Moon opens with a dream, and although Anita, Jean Claude, and Richard have a metaphysical bond, we all dream. So I thought this would be a fun opportunity to share a dream with you.
“Walk,” he tells me.
I don’t want to. I want to sit down. My feet hurt. I’m not used to wearing three-inch heels, but here we are.
“Walk,” he says again, and this time, he slaps me across the face. It’s a soft slap, as slaps go. I’m sure my cheek is red, but it was open palm. I’m not in danger of losing any teeth or having a big bruise. It wasn’t that hard.
And I walk. I don’t want him to hit me again.
He walks behind me, just a few paces, but I walk alone. My cheeks are burning with embarrassment now, not from the slap but because I am wearing a collar that has a little charm on it that says “slut,” a short skirt, and a knitted top that is all gaps and holes. I’m pretty sure I’m legally topless. And, of course, the three-inch heels. Nothing about my appearance is actually illegal here. Someone could call the cops and nothing would happen. But damn am I still shaking in my heels. What if someone I know sees me? What if someone tries to take advantage of me?
Listen, the rape victims are never at fault, even if they wear slutty clothes, but that kind of social conditioning is hard for me to ignore. I totally feel like I’m asking for someone to touch me, talk dirty to me, or whatever. I’m glad that he’s behind me, and he’ll keep me safe from others, but damn if it isn’t still scary.
And then I see someone walking toward me. My breath catches in my throat. He’s gorgeous. Tall, muscular, handsome. His skin is the color of caramel, and I want to sink my teeth into it. I can feel my pussy getting wet under my skirt, my juices dripping down my bare thighs. He’s still pretty far away, and I don’t know if he’s noticed my outfit, but he’s definitely noticed me. My breathing gets more and more ragged the closer he gets.
Just as he gets within ten feet of me, I see the moment when he realizes that my nipples are very apparent under my shirt. He stops walking, standing stock still and my steps bring me closer and closer.
J R Vincente 