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| Evelyn Starr, sensuous adult romance, romantica, erotica |
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| Ilia Perepechenko had no idea anyone was in the house. All he wanted was valuables. The kind of small stuff a smart thief could sell for quick cash. But this time he's made a mistake. The only valuable in this particular house is Kay Karen, an ex Vegas showgirl who's got a few ideas of her own about what he's going to steal and what he's going to give in return...which is everything Ilia's got! |
| Artwork by Jane Sommers |
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| He'd made some noise, he concluded. Some sound that had awakened her and attracted her attention, even though he'd taken every precaution to be as silent as the shadows that accompanied him on every journey into the forbidden territory...every foray into someone else's home, where he rummaged among their possessions. There was no other explanation. He'd made some sound and she'd struck him over the head with something he hadn't noticed, some weapon she'd kept either in her bedroom or in one of the other rooms into which he'd peered, his disappointment and desperation growing with every second. And now he was at her mercy. Now he lay almost beneath her on the floor with his head aching like a son of a bitch and his surging cock not so far behind. Without warning, the woman leaned over him again. Her hand came out, a dimly perceived blur of white in the almost-total darkness. And for a second he flinched, thinking she meant to strike him again, or maybe choke him. But she only reached for him. He felt her fingers, small and cold as the frozen night outside the hopelessly empty house, press the side of his throat. "You seem to be all right," she said, on her hands and knees next to him. Ilia thrilled a little at the note of soft worry that crept into her voice. He thrilled, too, at the brush of her skin against his as her fingertips found their way beneath the high-necked black sweater he wore to his 'gigs' and struck sparks that felt like fire...sparks made up of pure heat, and light, and something else. Something inexplicable that hadn't happened to him in years. That hadn't happened at all since Irina... Quickly, he clamped down on the thought. Clamped down ruthlessly, the way childhood in a totalitarian state where thoughts could be dangerous had taught him to clamp down. He had no time for Irina now. No time for the witch ever again. No time to do anything but... Before he knew it, urged on by the cock that hadn't given up its dancing, dipping and swaying and swelling bid for attention and action, Ilia reached for the woman who bent over him. Catching the back of her neck, he pulled her, unresisting in a moment of shocked silence that seemed to echo and boom through every room of the stripped and deserted mansion, closer. He pulled her all the way close, his heart already readying itself for more delight than he'd allowed himself in almost longer than he could remember. He pulled her down over him. Down onto him. He pulled her so close her body lay all but atop his and her mouth...her cherry-sweet mouth... He heard her gasp as her mouth touched his again, for real this time. He heard it, and the sound knifed right through him, piercing him with a warning he should not ignore. This was dangerous. This had all the potential to be more than dangerous. He should be getting to his feet. Should be preparing to run back into the night from which he'd come...the night that was best friend and closest companion to those such as he. He should have done it a long time ago. Should have done it the instant his eyes snapped open and he'd realized the electricity was out, as if God in his Holy Heaven had given him the perfect opportunity to escape without being detected. Except that the woman had detected him. And Ilia still didn't know how. |