Erotica Harem

Setting: The chapter starts out in a dream. You did a phenomenal job with setting the mood.
The last part of the chapter is at Hanna’s cottage.

Characters: It’s implied that Ian is a vampire. I’m curious as to what Marc thinks about that aspect of his dream. Marc doesn’t seem like he would think or read about vampires very much, so I just wonder how he takes it.

Does Hanna know that Marc is dating Ian?

Referencing: I don’t think I have any comments here.

Plot: Marc has a really intense dream about a vampire, who may very well be Ian. Then Marc’s grandmother is going away for the weekend. Marc looks forward to Ian coming back. I think something important and interesting is going to happen since she’s leaving.

Grammar: Minor things in the line by line.

Just my personal opinion: You did a great a job with the dream. It was intense and vivid. I can’t think what else to say about it. I really, really liked it.

Sephina

Line by Line:

Spanish moss. It haunted Marc's dreams. Well, that’s unusual

From gnarled limbs of ancient oaks it hung like angel's hair, ashen and weightless. The swaying tendrils filtered the pale glow of an enormous full moon, performing a silent symphony of light and wavering shadow on the forest floor. Good description.

This dream again; so vivid it could almost be memory.

Marc once more found himself walking among the trees of his secret grove on Roanoke Island. His shirt, loose and unbuttoned, fluttered in the incessant sea breeze. Despite the oppressive tropical warmth, the moist air flowing off the Sound chilled his bare chest and arms.

He took a deep breath, drawing in the familiar scent of rich earth, decaying leaves and brine. He took comfort in this inimitable Southern fragrance that spoke of life and I would replace the previous ‘and’ with a commadeath and renewal.

Marc often wandered through the old growth forest during visits to his ancestral home on the Outer Banks. But the exact location of this particular section remained a mystery, except in this dream. He felt drawn to it, this haunted wood. It was the one place where he could be alone with his thoughts.

But on this night, he sensed another nearby.

It always played out this way, the dreamI don’t think you need ‘the dream’ in this sentence. I think it’s been established already., and it always caught him off guard. Finding an intruder within his private sanctuary both disturbed and intrigued him.

Who and why?

Turning to his right, he caught sight of a lone figure leaning against the roughened trunk of a massive oak across the clearing. The dark-haired young man stood immobile, spellbound by the pool of summer moonlight shimmering on the soft ground between them.

Marc held his breath. He knew what was coming, and he wanted to savor it.

Several moments passed, and then the boy Not sure I would use boy here… looked up. Despite the darkness, Marc at once saw he had eyes of amazing blue. Of their own volition they appeared to glow, these eyes Again, I don’t think ‘these eyes’ are needed. It through me out of the story for a moment.. They absorbed the moonlight and amplified it with striking cobalt brilliance. Like twin fireflies, they hovered and gleamed in the night.

The moment they found Marc, the eyes flared and began to grow large with sudden interest.

The stranger’s lips formed a surreptitious grin that hinted of dark secrets and forbidden pleasures.

Marc shivered.

Come to me, Marc. It was the softest whisper. I have been waiting.

Marc knew those lips never moved. There had been no actual sound save for the murmur of insects and the incessant night wind, but he’d heard the words. He was sure of it.

I have been waiting.

Marc laughed. He knew this was destined to happen and therefore did not resist.

The stranger lifted one beckoning hand, palm up. He reached out, and Marc was more than eager to oblige.

Without hesitation, Marc began to walk like a thirsting man yearning for clean water from a cool, deep well. He crossed the clearing with a slow, confident stride.

More like a moth to a beautiful and fatal flame, he thought with a secret smile.

Once Marc stood before the stranger, he realized how close they were in age and physical makeup, and how those marvelous blue eyes shone in the gloom as if fired from within. They drew him in, coalescing into a blazing blue sun ready to consume him – mind, body and soul.

And then, as if it had been rehearsed a thousand times, the other opened his arms and Marc slipped into the waiting embrace. Like a rogue comet ensnared by a planet’s unyielding gravity, ooo, I like that. he felt himself falling, falling, falling …

Marc closed his eyes.

Ah, yes … safe, familiar, quiet ... it was each of these things and more. He melted into the stranger’s embrace, thrilled at the manner in which their forms meshed: two separate halves cut from the same stone. In unison, they both sighed.

Marc forced his eyes to open. An drowsy sense of contentment washed over him and he found himself thinking how the other's dark hair smelled of spring rain.

He pushed Marc’s upper body back a few inches and surveyed him with a heated, appreciative hunger. Growling, he ran his fingers through the soft, golden hair covering Marc's chest.

The touch at first was tentative, like that of a blind man assessing his subject’s every nuance and detail. But then, this tactile appraisal became insistent. He squeezed Marc’s biceps and shoulders with a firm, determined grip. He was surprised at such strong and purposeful hands. But then he became aware of the heat in the touch.

Marc pulled the boy's shirt open, slid it off his shoulders and dropped it to the ground. He wasted no time before shedding his own shirt Was Marc’s shirt open before? Because the man rubbed his chest hairs earlier…and then placed his hands against the other’s bare chest. His fingers moved through silky fur just as thick – but much darker – than his own. His palms grazed the small, firm nipples surrounded by black hair and he found himself wanting to take them between his teeth.

As if he’d read Marc’s thoughts, the boy groaned. Marc forced himself to slow down, to take his time. There was no need to rush this. He moved down to the flat stomach, which elicited a gasp from the stranger. The lean, defined muscles tensed beneath his fingers. These subtle contractions inflamed Marc's passion and caused his balls to tingle.

The stranger grinned, and then slipped his hand around the back of Marc’s neck, pulling him closer. Warm breath wafted past Marc's ear, a muted sigh mingled with the ocean wind. Silken lips trailed along Marc’s stubbled chin, and then moved down to his neck. The deliberate nature of these intimate actions sent an involuntary shudder rippling down Marc’s spine. The tiny hairs all over his body stood at attention.

The stranger’s lips moved against the tender skin of his throat as he whispered: "I need you, Marc. I need you ... now."

With eyes half-lidded, and his firm chest pressed against that of the stranger’s, Marc felt himself yielding. On some fundamental level, he knew what lay ahead, and he welcomed it. It was useless to resist such charms anyway. Of this he was now certain.

When the sharp teeth pierced the flesh of his throat, So there’s the vamp… Marc refused to cry out. He gasped at the pressure, the sudden stinging penetration. It was a violation unlike anything he had ever experienced, yet it was pure and without pretense. He found appreciation in the gesture’s sublime power.

With determined effort, he managed to open his eyes. He was almost moved to tears by the gloss of moonlight reflecting off of the other's dark hair: the indigo brilliance was heartbreaking. Good description.

Marc so wanted to speak these things aloud, to tell the stranger of the extraordinary thoughts racing through his mind, the sensations wracking his body. But before he could give voice to these overwhelming feelings, the stranger kissed him.

The instant their lips made contact, Marc’s heart quite literally skipped a beat. There was no gentleness in the kiss; rather it was a head-on collision. Their tongues met and Marc’s pulse quickened as his mouth was flooded with a taste familiar and at once addictive. This connected him with the stranger on a level so deep, so intimate that he could think of nothing more than getting closer. He wanted to wrap his body around the creature within his arms, to accept him, to absorb him …

And less than a microsecond later, the intense longing to merge with the boy transformed into something new and altogether indescribable. It happened quickly, this change, and it sang with electric intensity. The stranger’s actions had triggered some elemental aspect of Marc’s being, awakened the fearless and insatiable animal that dwells in every man’s heart.

Without reservation or conscious effort, Marc felt his inhibitions crumbling. Breathing hard, he threw back his head and embraced this exotic and powerful side of his being. His very blood felt as if it had been ignited and his mind expanded with an intoxicating sense of absolute freedom. He became a creature of pure instinct and confident action. He was liberated.

Roughly, and with impressive strength, Marc surprised the other by taking control of the situation. He thrust his body against the stranger's, pinning him against the tree. He grasped the boy’s wrists, crossed them and raised them in triumph high above their heads.

Despite this sudden role reversal, the stranger’s radiant eyes were locked on his, and Marc heard the implausible sound of bemused laughter echoing through the dark forest.

Wincing at the hardness of their mutual arousal throbbing between them, Marc almost screamed when he realized his mouth was locked on the other's throat. The fiery taste flowing across his tongue morphed into an exquisite, liquid pleasure that pushed him over the edge.

And with a wicked grin that must have lit up the night, Marc growled, "And I need you."


* * *


“Fuck!” Marc roared into the stillness of the cottage bedroom. His eyes flew open as he sprang into an upright position. Aside from his ragged breathing, it was quiet and he saw sunlight seeping in through the closed wooden blinds.

He rubbed his throat, expecting blood but found his skin moist with only sweat. He swallowed, the salty taste of … something ... lingered.

Sensing wetness on his abdomen, he ran a hand over his belly and realized he had ejaculated – an impressive amount. The sticky, cooling fluid was matted in the hair of his chest and the narrow trail leading down to his groin.

Shaking his head in wonder and confusion, he tried to recall the bizarre dream, but it was already beginning to fragment and fade.



* * *


Clad in only blue board shorts and dark sunglasses, Marc was takingtook? advantage of the warm Indian Summer – or ‘Second Summer’ as the locals called it. The daytime coastal temperatures held steady in the mid-70s, and he loved every minute of it.

He propped his bare feet on the railing of the main house’s long front porch and took a satisfying drink of a?cold Coke. For as long as he could remember, Hanna’s refrigerators were always stocked with plenty of 16-ounce bottles of the soft drink. He rolled the icy green glass across his sweating forehead, sighing as the liquid soothed his arid throat and gave him the caffeine boost he needed.

He’d set up a chaise lounge on the cottage’s back deck intending to add a little color to his pale skin tone. But thanks to the nocturnal schedule to which his body was becoming accustomed, he plugged in his iPod and fell asleep. And now, with his face darker and his chest and shoulders reddened from exposure, it was the cool shade he craved most.

Leaning back in the wooden rocker, he closed his eyes and thought about the strange dream. That was the seventh time, but none had ended with a conclusion as explosive as this last version. This had to be a connected Ian. Though he could never make out the details of the face, those blue eyes and that dark, hairy chest were far too similar to Ian’s to be a coincidence.

Marc’s natural thought process led him from the sexy stranger in the dream to a visualization of tonight, when Ian’s lean, naked form would be sprawled beside him, his skin tawny in the soft candlelight …

“Marc!” Hanna’s voice from inside the house yanked him back to reality.

“Out front, Grandma,” he yelled over his shoulder. He draped a folded newspaper over his lap to conceal the physical effects of the steamy fantasy.

Hanna opened the screen door just as a dusty, late-model green Cherokee roared into the driveway and parked beside Marc’s own Jeep.

“Sweetie, are you sure you don’t want to join Amelia and me for the weekend?” She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of late afternoon sun glittering on the Pacific. “I know how much you like her cabin in the mountains.”

“Nah,” Marc said, sincerely hoping she attributed the flaming scarlet of his cheeks to the sun. “I think I’ll just hang out, maybe look up some old friends I haven’t seen in a while.delete space ”

“All right, but please be careful. I’m still spooked about the body they found on the beach yesterday. You never know what maniacs might be lurking about.”

She turned her attention to the woman climbing out of the Cherokee. “And speaking of maniacs ...”

Amelia Stone, a nun from the local parish, was Hanna’s first cousin and had been her closest friend for as long as Marc could remember. I think this was mentioned earlier in the story. I’m not sure it’s needed here.

As Hanna had explained it to Marc, she and Amelia were inseparable while growing up in the Carolinas. She became something of a surrogate when Hanna’s sister – Mary – disappeared when they were all in their teens. Though their lives may have taken different paths, the bond remained strong through the decades.

The pair’s friendship continued after Amelia completed an extensive missionary tour in Southeast Asia, and then accepted an assignment teaching English at Our Lady of the Western Sea at Cedar Cove just over twenty-five years ago. When Marc’s grandfather passed away, Amelia was there for Hanna, just as she had been when Mary disappeared. She remained a constant, stabilizing influence in Hanna's life, and Marc was grateful for her presence.

“You’re right on time, old girl!” Hanna teased, winking at Marc. It was an old joke between them: Amelia was, without question, the least punctual person either of them had ever known.

Laughing – and aware she was the butt of the joke – Amelia ignored the nearby gate and leapt over the low picket fence. As she made her way across the yard, Marc shook his head, amazed at how unlike a nun she appeared. Dressed in khaki pants, a hunter’s vest over a white cotton blouse and heavy hiking boots, she looked as if she had just been plucked from a colorful Banana Republic advert for seniors.

Marc clamped a hand over his mouth when Hanna stepped out onto the porch. It seemed they’d been shopping at the same establishment. Clad in heavy green bush pants, boots and a similar vest and blouse, she appeared comically rugged.

“What?” she asked him, knowing just why he was grinning.

“Hey, I didn’t say a word,” he did his best to stifle a laugh. “But now that I know big game is on the itinerary, I might change my mind and join you two.”

“Very funny.” She placed a beige Boonie hat upon her wild mass of silver-white hair and then reached back through the door to haul a bulging green canvas duffle onto the porch.

Amelia climbed the front steps, her brown eyes sparkling with customary gaiety. “Hey there, Marcus! Hanna tells me you’re sitting this one out.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll just stay in the Cove, and take it easy.”

“OK, but you know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, Amelia.” Marc grinned, relieved that he could now stand with dignity.

“So, Hanna,” Amelia turned to her old friend, “you ready to hit the road?”

“More than you know, missy! It’ll do me a world of good to get some exercise. I’m feeling a bit stronger each day, and a little bird watching is always good for the spirit. Let me just get my camera and I’ll be right out.”

When his grandmother vanished into the house, Marc hefted the duffle over one shoulder and accompanied Amelia out to her Cherokee. Once out of earshot, he said, “I know she seems better, but I still worry about her. She’s pushing herself too hard, but I don’t want to discourage her. Will you make sure she takes it easy?”

“Marc, don’t worry. Hanna’s a stubborn old mule, but she’s not foolish. That episode frightened her as much as it did us. She’s aware of her limits.” The nun’s face darkened as if remembering how she'd rushed Hanna to the hospital. But then her smile returned, “This trip will be pure leisure. No base jumping or surfing, I promise. I would never let anything happen to her.”

She laid a hand on Marc’s shoulder. “I love her, too.”

“I know, Amelia. Thanks.”

She smiled and opened the vehicle’s tailgate so that Marc could position Hanna’s bag inside next to her own.

“OK, I’m ready,” Hanna announced as she trotted down the brick path. When she reached the Jeep, she slipped her camera equipment through the open window into the back seat and then walked to the rear of the vehicle. Straining up on her tiptoes, she hugged Marc and kissed him on the cheek. “Have fun this weekend. And stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s a deal.” Marc gave her a boost up into the passenger seat. “You guys better hurry. Weekend traffic will be brutal.”

With a nod and secret wink that told Marc his grandmother would be fine in her care, Amelia fired up the Jeep and backed up. Hanna waved and blew him a kiss. Scattering dry leaves in its wake, the Cherokee accelerated toward the Coast Road.

Marc watched them until they were out of sight, and then headed back to the cottage to prepare for Ian’s homecoming. He had plenty to tell him about recent events before they got down to business.


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