Burning Darkness Read Free

Jerryl, wishing it were him. She hadn’t thought she would ever feel this again. The heat, the intensity, only came with touching another person like her. During training, she had touched someone without psychic abilities and felt no heat.
    Eric was . . . well, he was big. Everywhere. She teased all around his erection, running her fingers over his inner thighs and then up to the pale skin of his pelvis. He was tensed, making every muscle stand out, sculpting his body like one of those statues she’d seen in pictures.
    He reached out again, and his hand went through her ethereal body. “My . . . imagination,” he whispered, a shadow of agony on his expression.
    “Maybe,” she said, giving him her coy smile again.
    “Who . . . are . . . you?”
    She liked that he couldn’t catch his breath as she moved her hands over his body. “Call me whatever you’d like.”
    He laughed, soft and husky. “This has got to be a dream, which means I’m finally asleep. Thank God.” He looked up at her. “I’ll call you Tawny. Come here, Tawny. I want you to sit on me. I’m going to grind into you and suck you raw.”
    The words stirred her. Yes, raw. She leaned down, as though to do much more than just place a kiss on his stomach. She bet his skin was soft and that those fine golden hairs would tickle her lips, and if she impaled herself on his massive erection and drove her fingernails into his shoulders when she came . . .
    Shock and disgust threw her out of her mission. She blinked to find herself back in her own bed, covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. Her breath came in shallow pants. The worst, the absolutely worst part was the throbbing between her legs.
    She got to her knees and smacked her forehead against the wall. “Whore! Slut!” Her body had responded to her enemy’s. She was weak, a traitor. “Piece of trash.”
    Those were her stepmother’s words, echoing in her brain as they often did. She deserved every one of them. Back then, no. Now . . . yes.
    With her forehead pressed against the wall, she banged her fists on either side of her head. Big, gulping breaths kept away her fury and tears. She sagged back onto the bed. Fatigue came from the tension that it took to keep that fine, tenuous thread between body and soul. When her soul thrust back into her body, the rush of energy was the final, exhausting straw.
    “I will do this. I’ll kill him even if I have to die trying.”
    Eric blinked as the sexy nymph disappeared. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. Was he dreaming? He felt as awake as he’d been for the last many days. He even pinched himself and felt the pain of it. Damn. Awake. Bleary-eyed, rubber-brained, but awake, and with a junior-high boner. He dropped back on the bed.
    “Hell. I am hallucinating.”
    This wasn’t good. How many steps away from insanity? First, visions of naked women because it had been way too long since he’d had sex. Then what? Would he see the enemy sneaking in with guns and kill them, only to discover he’d killed his friends?
    Psychosis.
    The warning Eric had gotten echoed in his head. Another one of their kind had suffered from sleeplessness right before he went whacked and killed his mother. Eric hadn’t slept since he’d burned Jerryl. Overuse of their abilities could push them over the edge.
    He had rushed headlong into dangerous situations. He’d faced death. Never had he felt afraid. What the sleeplessness and hallucinations meant . . . the prospect scared the hell out of him.

Chapter 2
    A n urgent knock on her door shot Fonda out of bed. She had the trippy mental picture of Eric standing there.
    Who the hell is it?
    It was seven-thirty in the morning. Even during decent hours, she rarely had visitors. She let no one into her life, so there wasn’t a chance that it was some friend in need. Maybe a neighbor, like that elderly lady who had given her a wary smile when she offered to carry up the woman’s groceries