|Who can he be?|
1. We post a picture of a sexy man (see above)
2. You suggest possible book boyfriend he could represent.
soooo possible book boyfriends.... who are you?
The Gutter Girls
Rhage felt like holy hell as he weaved down the corridor. Every time the beast came out of him and his vision headed off for a little vacation, his eyes took their own sweet time in getting back to work. The body didn't want to play, either, his legs and arms hanging like heavy weights off his torso, not exactly useless, but damn close. And his stomach was still off. The very idea of food made him nauseous. But he'd had it with being stuck in his room. Twelve hours flat on his back was enough wasted time. He was determined to get to the training center's gym, hop on a recumbent bike, and loosen himself up a little— He stopped, tensing. He couldn't see much, but he knew for sure he was
not alone in the hall. Whoever it was stood close beside him, to his left. And it was a stranger.
He spun around and yanked the figure out of a doorway, grabbing it by the throat, forcing the body into the opposite wall. Too late he realized it was a female, and the high-pitched gasp shamed him. He quickly eased up on his grip, but he did not let go. The slender neck under his palm was warm, soft. Her pulse was frantic, blood racing through the veins that came up from her heart. He leaned
down and drew a breath through his nose. Only to jerk back. Jesus Christ, she was a human. And she was sick, maybe dying. "Who are you?" he demanded. "How did you get in here?" There was no answer, just quick breathing. She was utterly terrified of him, the smell of her fear like wood smoke in his nose.
He softened his voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you don't belong here, and I want to know who you are."
Her throat undulated under his hand, as if she were swallowing "My name… my name is Mary. I'm here with a friend."
Rhage stopped breathing. His heart skipped a beat and then slowed. "Say that again," he whispered.
"Ah, my name is Mary Luce. I'm a friend of Bella's… We came here with a boy, with John Matthew. We were invited."
Rhage shivered, a balmy rush blooming out all over his skin. The musical lilt of her voice, the rhythm of her speech, the sound of her words, it all spread through him, calming him, comforting him. Chaining him sweetly. He closed his eyes. "Say something else."
"What?" she asked, baffled.
"Talk. Talk to me. I want to hear your voice again."
She was silent, and he was about to demand that she speak when she said, "You don't look well. Do you need a doctor?"
He found himself swaying. The words didn't matter. It was her sound: low, soft, a quiet brushing in his ears. He felt as if he were being stroked on the inside of his skin.
"More," he said, twisting his palm around to the front of her neck so he could feel the vibrations in her throat better.
"Could you… could you please let go of me?"
"No." He brought his other arm up. She was wearing some kind of fleece, and he moved the collar aside, putting his hand on her shoulder so she couldn't get away from him. 'Talk."
She started to struggle. "You're crowding me."
"I know. Talk."
"Oh, for God's sake, what do you want me to say?"
Even exasperated, her voice was beautiful. "Anything."
"Fine. Get your hand off my throat and let me go or I'm going to knee you where it counts."
He laughed. Then sank his lower body into her, trapping her with his thighs and hips. She stiffened against him, but he got an ample feel of her. She was built lean, though there was no doubt she was a female. Her breasts hit his chest, her hips cushioned his, her stomach was soft.
"Keep talking," he said in her ear. God, she smelled good. Clean. Fresh. Like lemon. When she pushed against him, he leaned his full weight into her. Her breath came out in a rush. "Please," he murmured.
Her chest moved against his as if she were inhaling. "I… er, I have nothing to say. Except get off of me."
He smiled, careful to keep his mouth closed. There was no sense showing off his fangs, especially if she didn't know what he was. "So say that."
"Nothing. Say nothing. Over and over and over again. Do it" She bristled, the scent of fear replaced by a sharp spice, like fresh, pungent mint from a garden. She was annoyed now. "Say it," he commanded, needing to feel more of what she did to him.
"Fine. Nothing. Nothing." Abruptly she laughed, and the sound shot right through to his spine, burning him. "Nothing, nothing. No-thing. No-thing. Noooooothing. There, is that good enough for you? Will you let me go now?"
She fought against him again, creating a delicious friction between their bodies. And he knew the moment when her anxiety and irritation turned to something hot. He smelled her arousal, a lovely sweetening in the air, and his body answered her call.
He got hard as a diamond.
'Talk to me, Mary." He moved his hips in a slow circle against her, rubbing his erection on her belly, increasing his ache and her heat After a moment the tension eased out of her, softening her against the thrust of his muscles and his arousal. Her hands flattened on his waist. And then slowly slid around to the small of his back, as if she were unsure why she was responding to him the way she was.
He arched against her, to show his approval and encourage her to touch more of him. When her palms moved up his spine, he growled low in his throat and dropped his head down so his ear was closer to her mouth. He wanted to give her another word to say, something like luscious or whisper or strawberry.
Hell, antidisestablishmentarianism would do it.