Ann Bruce - Prologue from BEFORE DAWN

Prologue from Before Dawn

She was naked and on her knees. And so was the warm male body behind her.

Oh God.

That was her only coherent thought as equal parts pleasure, deep and intense to an almost terrifying degree, and frustration racked her slender body. She arched, the back of her head digging into the shoulder behind it, her breasts pushing harder into the warm male hands cupping them, rhythmically squeezing them.

Shivers raced down her taut frame when soft lips pressed against the side of her neck, setting off tiny explosions on the acutely sensitive skin. Her nails dug into straining thighs when a tongue flicked out to tease the pulsing vein in her neck.

Her inner muscles contracted, eagerly anticipating the invasion of the erection pressing, burning into her buttocks. She moaned. It was a low, strangled sound of desperate need.

"Tell me you want me," came the raspy demand whispered directly into her ear, caressing it. "Tell me you want," she inhaled sharply at the small thrust of his pelvis against her smooth bottom, "this."

She writhed in his hold, trapped from behind by the hard body and from the front by the hands kneading her swollen breasts. But she didn't writhe to get away. She writhed because the friction was delicious and sinful and gave her a measure of relief from the need coiled so tightly in her middle. It had been much, much too long.

Eyes at half mast, she drew her lower lip between her teeth and gently bit down as her restless hands haltingly rubbed up and down the length of his smooth thighs. She pressed back and widened her knees slightly, silently begging him to come into her from behind and pump toward the release they both needed.

Through the haze, she felt two sharp points scrape almost delicately across her skin. They pushed down, piercing her flesh. And pain slashed through the fog of pleasure clouding her brain.

Mercy Jansen came awake with a jolt, sitting straight up in her bed, tangled sheets wrapped carelessly about her damp body. A body that felt heavy and seemed to throb, beating out remembered desire.

For long, drawn-out moments she sat there, listening to the heavy beat of her heart echoing in her head.

Oh Jesus. Not again.

Mercy raked her damp hair back with both hands. This couldn't be healthy. Having dreams--erotic dreams, at that--about a vampire. Mental note to self--no more pre-born-again Anne Rice novels before bed. She laughed weakly. Very weakly. After three consecutive months, she no longer found the dreams amusing. They were freaky, actually. Especially since she always woke up just before he drew blood.

Mercy closed her eyes and shivered delicately.

What would happen if she didn't wake at that point?

Despite herself, she slowly trailed her fingers from the swift pulse in her neck down between her still-flushed breasts, down past her navel and farther still. And her breath caught in her throat when she found her center warm and creamy, as she had expected. But what unsettled her was she still desired the man--the thing--of her nightmares. Thrilling, sensuous, erotic…but still nightmares when she lacked control and feared them too much to see them through to the end.

Jesus Christ. She needed to get out of here and away from these none-too-pleasant thoughts.

Mercy swung her legs off the bed and onto the floor, taking the sheet with her, wrapped about her body sarong style. She left her bedroom, the scene of her nightmares, with the ends of the white sheet trailing behind her like a wedding gown train.

Needing fresh air to clear her muddled head, Mercy soon found herself tucked quite comfortably on the large, deeply cushioned porch swing on the back deck, a tall glass of cold water clasped between her hands, which were gradually becoming numb despite the unseasonably warm weather. The ice floating in the clear liquid clinked almost soothingly as she brought the glass to her lips and sipped. Her parched throat found relief. Mercy carelessly placed the glass on the wooden floor of the deck and settled back, pulling the sheet about her more securely.

It was a beautiful night, making her silently congratulate herself for having the foresight to purchase a home on the outskirts of the metropolis. It was quiet here, peaceful, and without the pollution that wouldn't allow her to see each glittering, preening star so clearly. She could almost trace their needle-thin outlines. Moreover, even if there weren't towering trees and vegetation around to ensure her privacy, her closest neighbor was much farther than a holler away. It was an inconvenience to commute to work on the mornings she had to go into the office, but it was a small price to pay for the privacy she had learned to treasure so dearly growing up in a crowded orphanage.

Mercy closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath and just as slowly released it, feeling the tension seep from her back and shoulders, leaving them as limp as silk pooled on a bedroom floor. The air had just the teeniest nip in it, enough to make the sheet necessary to keep her toasty and just a bit drowsy. A yawn was drawn from the very depths of her body, making her eyelids feel more weighted. Eventually, she recklessly tumbled off that edge between wakefulness and sleep.

The soft touch began in her hair. Long fingers softly combed through the silky, coal-dark strands before traveling down to trace the unguarded features of her face. Mercy softly stirred but didn't waken when her neck received similar treatment. A quiet sound slipped past her lips…lips that parted for the mouth that gently covered them, moved lightly, sensuously over them. Even in her sleep, Mercy knew how to respond, needed to respond.

Her mouth opened wider, an invitation her dream lover accepted immediately. Cradling her head in both hands, he stroked his tongue inside her soft, soft mouth, exploring the slick surfaces, the ridged roof, the slightly rough texture of her tongue. He shifted her head to deepen the kiss, still keeping it leisurely and sensuous. Mercy moaned in her sleep.

Then she felt another pair of hands divesting her of the protective sheet. The hands unwrapped her slowly, carefully, as if savoring a gift received on Christmas morning. The spaghetti straps of her silk thigh-high nightgown were slipped off her shoulders and pushed down past her elbows. She shivered when the night air washed over her breasts, bared for the moon and the stars in the night sky to view.

She cried out against the mouth still making love to hers when two more paid homage to her breasts. Dear God. Hands stroked up and down her sides as two mouths covered her pebbled nipples and suckled, teasing her with the feel of the smooth edges of teeth, sporadically, just enough to drive her slowly insane.

Her soul-deep sound of need was choked when her breasts were left bereft. But the sound changed into a soft groan when long-fingered hands kneaded the mounds of her breasts, giving her a measure of relief. Her crumpled nightgown was rucked up to expose the lower half of her primed body. A pointed tongue teased her navel, flicking in and out of her bellybutton before erotically trailing its way down to her pulsing sex. Her thighs languorously fell open, her sex glistening, announcing her need to all who cared to look and touch.

Mercy tried to draw back from the mouth that ate at hers, but the hands tangled in her hair wouldn't let her escape. Instead, he--whoever he was-kissed her even more voraciously, forcing her head back. A muffled sound escaped her as she tried to draw air through her nostrils. Fire sizzled her nerve endings and her hips arched off the porch swing when a mouth pressed deeply, intimately against her sex.

It was enough to send a ripple through Mercy's dream, enough to nudge her toward the waking world. She was slow, reluctant even, in crossing that bridge. Lashes fluttered then lifted. The hands and mouths retreated.

She thought she gasped. It wasn't fear, but a somewhat mild shock, as if she had been expecting this on some level. If she hadn't already gasped, she should have at the sight that greeted her. It was something right out of a Gothic horror. A solitary figure against the backdrop of the night sky and yet darkly shadowed so she could just barely make out his features. A small hysterical laugh threatened to bubble from her. All that was missing was the flash of lightning and a cape whipping in the wind. But there was no lightning and no cape, just a looming shadow of a man in the distance, watching her intently. Despite the cover of darkness, Mercy hastily rewrapped herself in the sheet. The crazy idea he was responsible for her erotic dreams and the episode just now teased her brain.

There was a gleam of eerie white. He was smiling. His lips moved. His words were slow, as was that disconcerting smile. "Soon, Mercy...soon."

And she awoke, a hand pressed to her madly beating heart.

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