Call of the Moon: (BBW Paranormal Hunters Erotic Romance) (Avalon Book 2) by Mina Carter
Authors: Mina Carter
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Chapter One
“You have blood on your ass. Here, let me.”
The deep male voice interrupted my reverie in the motel shower, sliding between the sound of the spray and the thunder of trucks on the freeway outside. A large, callused hand cupped my rounded derriere and rubbed at the offending spot of dried blood. Not mine, I hastened to add. In my line of work, blood, dried or otherwise, was an occupational hazard.
Sighing in contentment and rising anticipation, I thrust my hips back, as Jasen, my lover of just over six months or so, climbed in behind me.
“Christ Gwen, you got it in your hair as well.” He grabbed the small bottle of shampoo from the shelf and dumped the contents on my head. “What did you do, roll around in the stuff?”
I shrugged, a moan on my lips as his strong fingers massaged the apple blossom solution, or some similar concoction into my scalp. Jasen had magic hands, the guy should have been a masseuse. Seriously. Or a model. An underwear model. He had an ass and a package I could drool over all day.
“Wood chipper. Only way to get rid of the body. It’ll drive the cops batty.”
I hunted vampires, among other things. Unlike Buffy, though, my job didn’t end at the staking. In real life, vampires and other nasties didn’t conveniently go “poof” in a cloud of dust and make things easy. Oh no, the bastards were just as much trouble dead as they were alive.
Almost every nasty I knew reverted to human form on death, which meant the average hunter was extremely adept and inventive at getting rid of the bodies. There was an urban legend that a British hunter actually mailed a vamp to seventeen different locations. I half believed it. The postal system here was just about crap enough.
Moral of the story? Never piss one of us off, because no one would ever find the remains.
Jasen got inventive with his hands. Those oh-so-clever fingers traced the shape of my ass and downward. I tensed and parted my legs in blatant invitation as I waited for that perfect moment—when he spread the lips of my pussy and went to work.
He didn’t. His hands rubbed the soapy lather down my thighs, working it up in a storm as he grumbled some more about blood. I pouted in disappointment.
“Baby, since when has a little blood bothered you?” I teased, wriggling my ass in hopes of getting some action.
Action always got an equal and opposite reaction. Somehow I didn’t think Newton was talking about sex in a shower, though. With a small growl, he surged to his feet, flipping me around and pushing me back. Before I could think, he had me against the wall, the feeling of cool tile against my back, and a hard male body pressing urgently into me.
His hands bit into my hips, less ample than they had once been, after nearly six months in the saddle. I bit back a whimper. He was always a bit rough just before the full moon, as dominant urges and other stuff we didn’t talk about rushed to the fore. My secret shame was that I loved it.
“Doesn’t. Want to smell you,” he growled, a feral light in his eyes as he buried his face into my neck. He bit lightly, making me jump at the sudden sensation of pleasure-pain. When he was like this, I never knew what he was going to do next.
One time, we’d messed about in the car, me teasing his cock as he drove. Grunting a curse, he’d pulled into a rest stop, and the next thing I knew, I was spread over the hood of his car. In full view of the road. God, that had been a good night. If I’d had any inhibitions before meeting him, I sure as hell didn’t now.
I soon found out what his next move was. As I wriggled, he grabbed my leg and hauled it up over his hip. I moaned as the thick head of his cock fitted into the grove of my pussy lips and slid upward.
“God, you’re hot. I want you…fuck you hard and fast.”
He pulled back for a second to look into my eyes, and I saw the battle waging there. The need for sex, the feral instincts that drove him, fighting
“You have blood on your ass. Here, let me.”
The deep male voice interrupted my reverie in the motel shower, sliding between the sound of the spray and the thunder of trucks on the freeway outside. A large, callused hand cupped my rounded derriere and rubbed at the offending spot of dried blood. Not mine, I hastened to add. In my line of work, blood, dried or otherwise, was an occupational hazard.
Sighing in contentment and rising anticipation, I thrust my hips back, as Jasen, my lover of just over six months or so, climbed in behind me.
“Christ Gwen, you got it in your hair as well.” He grabbed the small bottle of shampoo from the shelf and dumped the contents on my head. “What did you do, roll around in the stuff?”
I shrugged, a moan on my lips as his strong fingers massaged the apple blossom solution, or some similar concoction into my scalp. Jasen had magic hands, the guy should have been a masseuse. Seriously. Or a model. An underwear model. He had an ass and a package I could drool over all day.
“Wood chipper. Only way to get rid of the body. It’ll drive the cops batty.”
I hunted vampires, among other things. Unlike Buffy, though, my job didn’t end at the staking. In real life, vampires and other nasties didn’t conveniently go “poof” in a cloud of dust and make things easy. Oh no, the bastards were just as much trouble dead as they were alive.
Almost every nasty I knew reverted to human form on death, which meant the average hunter was extremely adept and inventive at getting rid of the bodies. There was an urban legend that a British hunter actually mailed a vamp to seventeen different locations. I half believed it. The postal system here was just about crap enough.
Moral of the story? Never piss one of us off, because no one would ever find the remains.
Jasen got inventive with his hands. Those oh-so-clever fingers traced the shape of my ass and downward. I tensed and parted my legs in blatant invitation as I waited for that perfect moment—when he spread the lips of my pussy and went to work.
He didn’t. His hands rubbed the soapy lather down my thighs, working it up in a storm as he grumbled some more about blood. I pouted in disappointment.
“Baby, since when has a little blood bothered you?” I teased, wriggling my ass in hopes of getting some action.
Action always got an equal and opposite reaction. Somehow I didn’t think Newton was talking about sex in a shower, though. With a small growl, he surged to his feet, flipping me around and pushing me back. Before I could think, he had me against the wall, the feeling of cool tile against my back, and a hard male body pressing urgently into me.
His hands bit into my hips, less ample than they had once been, after nearly six months in the saddle. I bit back a whimper. He was always a bit rough just before the full moon, as dominant urges and other stuff we didn’t talk about rushed to the fore. My secret shame was that I loved it.
“Doesn’t. Want to smell you,” he growled, a feral light in his eyes as he buried his face into my neck. He bit lightly, making me jump at the sudden sensation of pleasure-pain. When he was like this, I never knew what he was going to do next.
One time, we’d messed about in the car, me teasing his cock as he drove. Grunting a curse, he’d pulled into a rest stop, and the next thing I knew, I was spread over the hood of his car. In full view of the road. God, that had been a good night. If I’d had any inhibitions before meeting him, I sure as hell didn’t now.
I soon found out what his next move was. As I wriggled, he grabbed my leg and hauled it up over his hip. I moaned as the thick head of his cock fitted into the grove of my pussy lips and slid upward.
“God, you’re hot. I want you…fuck you hard and fast.”
He pulled back for a second to look into my eyes, and I saw the battle waging there. The need for sex, the feral instincts that drove him, fighting
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