death
three months ago had finally freed her to return to its magical shores.
Renovations on the cottage now complete, she had the place to herself. Peace and
quiet to write, safe from men and their lecherous intentions, the stories she
created as much her friends as her means of earning a living. Loch Ness
provided all the inspiration she needed. If only the paranormal heroes she
created on paper were real.
A loud splash
sent Penelope's heart racing, and her eyes flew open. It wasn't Nessie she
spotted though, but the same boat that had been circling the area for the last
few days. A shiver of unease went down her spine. The three shaven-headed,
heavily tattooed slabs of muscle in that dinghy oozed meanness out of their
very pores. She knew enough about guns to know that they were packing heat. She
pursed her lips and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Whatever those
men were up to, research wasn't it. She was sick and tired of bounty hunters.
They were either after fame and fortune or in for the “sport”. She would never understand men's obsession
with killing what they didn't understand. As far as she could tell Nessie had
never harmed anyone. Why couldn't they just leave her well alone?
She snapped
her notebook shut, her peace ruined, and with one last glare at the circling
dinghy and its questionable occupants, she turned tail and stomped up the steps
to her cottage. She would return at twilight. The
Loch
was at its most magical, and it would be just the right setting for the ending
in her book. She smiled to herself, as her mind wandered to the Happy Ever
After she envisioned in her head. Penelope might be fast approaching thirty
without any hope of finding a man, but she could give her heroines the
mind-blowing sex she secretly craved herself and, most importantly, the
tortured heroes of their dreams.
****
Penelope sat
up with a start in the middle of her tangled sheets, the shots fired having
broken through her restless dreams – dreams dominated by golden eyes in a
brooding face, framed by unruly, shoulder-length hair. Large hands had caressed
her intimately, the hard, muscled planes of a man's body fitting themselves to
her slight curves, making her feel feminine and desired and on fire from the
inside out. Pinned to the bed by the sheer bulk of her dream lover, she'd been
unable to move, her excitement hitting fever pitch when he'd tied her hands and
legs to the bed posts. Dream Penelope had panted her arousal when her lover had
rubbed his huge cock along her soaked pussy lips, teasing her with the promise
of being filled, whilst his fingers in her ass had pushed her off the bed. He'd
sucked and laved her nipples with his mouth and teeth, until she'd begged for
her release over and over. When he'd finally pushed his cock inside her aching
channel, every slow measured thrust had driven her ever closer to that elusive
edge, and then…
"Fuck
it!" The expletive hung in the stillness of the room, and she groaned,
kicking the covers off. Her bedroom window afforded an unobstructed view of the
Loch
, now bathed in the early morning mists.
All seemed quiet, perhaps too quiet, so whatever had shaken her out of her
dream was gone, if it had ever existed. She was wet and needy, and she so
needed to get laid. Penelope smiled grimly at her reflection in the bathroom
mirror – what she could see of it without her glasses. Like getting fucked
within an inch of her life was going to happen any time soon. Even in her dreams
she never quite got there, damn it. In real life it would require a loss of
control she'd never quite managed with any man. The few sexual encounters she'd
had had left her unfulfilled, and the one time she had thought herself in love
with a man, he'd thrown that love back in her face.
Disgusted
with her train of thought, Penelope yanked on some shorts and a t-shirt, pushed
her feet into her running shoes, and pulled her hair back into a rough
ponytail. An early morning run would beat the
three months ago had finally freed her to return to its magical shores.
Renovations on the cottage now complete, she had the place to herself. Peace and
quiet to write, safe from men and their lecherous intentions, the stories she
created as much her friends as her means of earning a living. Loch Ness
provided all the inspiration she needed. If only the paranormal heroes she
created on paper were real.
A loud splash
sent Penelope's heart racing, and her eyes flew open. It wasn't Nessie she
spotted though, but the same boat that had been circling the area for the last
few days. A shiver of unease went down her spine. The three shaven-headed,
heavily tattooed slabs of muscle in that dinghy oozed meanness out of their
very pores. She knew enough about guns to know that they were packing heat. She
pursed her lips and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Whatever those
men were up to, research wasn't it. She was sick and tired of bounty hunters.
They were either after fame and fortune or in for the “sport”. She would never understand men's obsession
with killing what they didn't understand. As far as she could tell Nessie had
never harmed anyone. Why couldn't they just leave her well alone?
She snapped
her notebook shut, her peace ruined, and with one last glare at the circling
dinghy and its questionable occupants, she turned tail and stomped up the steps
to her cottage. She would return at twilight. The
Loch
was at its most magical, and it would be just the right setting for the ending
in her book. She smiled to herself, as her mind wandered to the Happy Ever
After she envisioned in her head. Penelope might be fast approaching thirty
without any hope of finding a man, but she could give her heroines the
mind-blowing sex she secretly craved herself and, most importantly, the
tortured heroes of their dreams.
****
Penelope sat
up with a start in the middle of her tangled sheets, the shots fired having
broken through her restless dreams – dreams dominated by golden eyes in a
brooding face, framed by unruly, shoulder-length hair. Large hands had caressed
her intimately, the hard, muscled planes of a man's body fitting themselves to
her slight curves, making her feel feminine and desired and on fire from the
inside out. Pinned to the bed by the sheer bulk of her dream lover, she'd been
unable to move, her excitement hitting fever pitch when he'd tied her hands and
legs to the bed posts. Dream Penelope had panted her arousal when her lover had
rubbed his huge cock along her soaked pussy lips, teasing her with the promise
of being filled, whilst his fingers in her ass had pushed her off the bed. He'd
sucked and laved her nipples with his mouth and teeth, until she'd begged for
her release over and over. When he'd finally pushed his cock inside her aching
channel, every slow measured thrust had driven her ever closer to that elusive
edge, and then…
"Fuck
it!" The expletive hung in the stillness of the room, and she groaned,
kicking the covers off. Her bedroom window afforded an unobstructed view of the
Loch
, now bathed in the early morning mists.
All seemed quiet, perhaps too quiet, so whatever had shaken her out of her
dream was gone, if it had ever existed. She was wet and needy, and she so
needed to get laid. Penelope smiled grimly at her reflection in the bathroom
mirror – what she could see of it without her glasses. Like getting fucked
within an inch of her life was going to happen any time soon. Even in her dreams
she never quite got there, damn it. In real life it would require a loss of
control she'd never quite managed with any man. The few sexual encounters she'd
had had left her unfulfilled, and the one time she had thought herself in love
with a man, he'd thrown that love back in her face.
Disgusted
with her train of thought, Penelope yanked on some shorts and a t-shirt, pushed
her feet into her running shoes, and pulled her hair back into a rough
ponytail. An early morning run would beat the
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