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“Is it only alcohol that gets
you orgasmic?” inquired a throaty, feminine voice from across the room.
He turned slowly, reluctantly
meeting her gaze. Totally Acme-anviled when their eyes locked, his thoughts
scattered like cockroaches. His legs nearly buckled. The mating drive
overpowered his senses. Mine, mine, mine
pounded through him like a drumbeat, louder than his thundering pulse. A
blood-red haze descended over his corneas, his distorted vision allowing only
the image of Zena through the flickering flames, his hunger for her
all-consuming, his inner beast raging to be freed, to be fed. His need to be
inside her, to mark her as his, clobbered him, so compelling he didn’t know how
to resist.
No,
no, no. Not her. The
Queen would string his nuts on a necklace. Belting down his second drink, he
returned the tumbler to the sideboard before his fingers tightened on the glass
and cracked the crystal. Pressing his hands to his temples, he squeezed his
skull like a walnut, trying to prevent a potential bonding from happening. Not helping.
SLEEPY HOLLOW is available in paperback and eBook!
4 comments:
LOVE this! The sense of urgency...and danger. And as usual, you've added that wicked sense of humor of yours. hehe "The Queen would string his nuts on a necklace." Fab Hump Day Hook, Taryn!
That is hot, and the inner conflict makes it that much more intriguing. :)
I think he's in trouble. :D
There is so much conflict and danger in his mine, he shouldn't have been drinking.
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