M.R. WALLACE AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
M.R. Wallace was born and raised in Eastern Oregon. After joining the Army as a helicopter mechanic, he deployed to both Iraq and Afghanistan. In spite of this, he now lives in the high desert of California. Primarily writing horror, M.R. nevertheless writes about whatever inspiration comes his way, and has branched out into erotica, with fantasy and sci-fi close on its heels.
Horror, Erotica, Fantasy, Sci-Fi
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There were those words again. She luxuriated in them. She stood and placed her fingers at the waistband of her warmest yoga pants only to find his hands already hovering near her hips.
“Now guide my hands in removing your pants, darling.”
She closed her fingers over his firm hands and pushed them slowly, hooking her pants and sliding them gently over her thighs toward the floor. Every inch they traveled down, a corresponding tightness in her chest began to rise in her throat. Her flesh felt like it was beginning to burn under Dominic’s slow and patient touch. Rather than bending to push them all the way to the floor, she felt him kneel behind her and finish the job himself. She jumped as his hot lips pressed tenderly against the soft skin of her ass. Renee’s hands instinctively reached back and gripped his shoulders. Somewhere during her journey to her bedroom, he had stripped off his jacket and shirt, leaving her to grip the flat, hard muscles of his shoulders. “Hurry, Dominic. I need you.”
His shoulders lifted, her hands sliding down his torso. His strong fingers deftly unhooked her bra and slid it free. He stood close behind her. “You’ll have me, Renee. But if you think I’m going to hurry, then I’ve got bad news for you.” His soft laugh rustled her hair and lit her body with another pleasurable wave of sensation.
“No, please, Dominic.” She was surprised at how hungry, how wanton her voice sounded. “Don’t tease me like that, please.”
“Oh, I’m not teasing you, Renee. I’m going to take my time with you and enjoy every moment.” His fingers slid under the waistband of her panties and Renee stopped breathing.
She waited. Waited an eternity it felt like before the cotton began to move. Rather than pushing them down to the floor like her pants, Renee felt his hands tighten, drawing the fabric uncomfortably taut against her skin before he tugged and they came apart at the seams.
“Renee, you’ve soaked straight through them.” Dominic sounded equal parts amused and awed. “And you smell amazing. Fuck.”
She giggled. “Who’s the naughty one now?”
“Oh, darling. You don’t know the half of it.” His presence suddenly vanished from behind her. Then, from the doorway, he said, “Stand up straight and put your hands on your head, Renee.”
Not for the first time, she found herself unable to move for a moment. His voice rang in her ears like a chime, sending reverberations down her spine that terminated low in her belly. She was dripping down her thighs already and his commanding tone only turned up the heat. Slowly, uncertainly, Renee lifted her arms until her hands came together atop her head.
“Mmmmm, god you are beautiful, Renee.” Dominic’s footfalls approached again, circling around her as he took in the sight.
Her breath was coming faster now, shallow and quivering. Her nipples were tight, almost to the point of being painful. The sensation drove her crazy. Todd had never had this effect on her. She wanted nothing more than to get her hands on Dominic and devour him. “Dominic.”
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“You know what else the moon is connected to?” She was speaking as she trailed down his chest, her lips brushing his skin lightly. Her path cooled in the night air as she went lower.
It was hard for him to think straight. Marcus stuttered for a second before his mind gave him the only answer he could find at the second. “Werewolves?” He asked. Gemma bit him just above the belly button, a sharp sting that made him jump, inhaling with a hiss. Then she licked and kissed, soothing the marks she’d left.
“That’s right,” she replied, pulling herself back up to sit on his hips. She leaned back in the moonlight, the faint yellow glow washing over her pale flesh. Marcus stared, hypnotized. He’d had sex with other girls, but Gemma was definitely special. He ran his hands up her flat stomach to her breasts. “I fucking love werewolves.” She said.
“Really,” Marcus replied, his own mind on just about anything but werewolves.
“Yes.” She ground her hips against him, ignoring his belt buckle as it prodded at her. “They’re so strong, animalistic, brutal. They’re just sexy. And then there’s the whole moon connection.” She leaned down close over Marcus’ face. “You know my favorite kind of werewolf?”
He shook his head. He was tiring of werewolf talk and wanted to get to the screaming. He put his hands around Gemma’s throat and squeezed a little. Her mouth opened in a smile and he could see her teeth. They were brilliantly white and gleaming. He couldn’t help but notice that they looked sharp.
She put her hands around his and squeezed tighter, her blood singing in her ears with the treatment. She moaned loudly, a sound that reverberated in her petite chest and vibrated against Marcus’ palms. Her hands slid down his arms to his biceps. “Lycanthropes.” She breathed, fighting through the pressure around her throat to utter the word. Her voice was hoarse as she arched her back in the moonlight. “They’ve got all the advantages of a werewolf without all that fur. What do you think?”
“Uh huh,” Marcus grunted, the discomfort in his jeans now at an apex and needing to be remedied soon.
“God,” Gemma whispered, “I can hear it.” Her head cocked to the side. She squeezed his biceps. “I can feel it. I need it.”
“What?” He muttered, his face and chest were burning with heat and he felt the need to just tear into her already, devour her completely.
Blurb: Two teenagers on a moonlit rendezvous in the woods. What could go wrong?
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