The Last of His Kind(2)

By: Doris O Connor


She snapped her notebook shut, her peace ruined, and with one last glare at the circling dinghy and its questionable occupants, she turned tail and stomped up the steps to her cottage. She would return at twilight. The Loch was at its most magical, and it would be just the right setting for the ending in her book. She smiled to herself, as her mind wandered to the Happy Ever After she envisioned in her head. Penelope might be fast approaching thirty without any hope of finding a man, but she could give her heroines the mind-blowing sex she secretly craved herself and, most importantly, the tortured heroes of their dreams.

****

Penelope sat up with a start in the middle of her tangled sheets, the shots fired having broken through her restless dreams – dreams dominated by golden eyes in a brooding face, framed by unruly, shoulder-length hair. Large hands had caressed her intimately, the hard, muscled planes of a man's body fitting themselves to her slight curves, making her feel feminine and desired and on fire from the inside out. Pinned to the bed by the sheer bulk of her dream lover, she'd been unable to move, her excitement hitting fever pitch when he'd tied her hands and legs to the bed posts. Dream Penelope had panted her arousal when her lover had rubbed his huge cock along her soaked pussy lips, teasing her with the promise of being filled, whilst his fingers in her ass had pushed her off the bed. He'd sucked and laved her nipples with his mouth and teeth, until she'd begged for her release over and over. When he'd finally pushed his cock inside her aching channel, every slow measured thrust had driven her ever closer to that elusive edge, and then…

"Fuck it!" The expletive hung in the stillness of the room, and she groaned, kicking the covers off. Her bedroom window afforded an unobstructed view of the Loch, now bathed in the early morning mists. All seemed quiet, perhaps too quiet, so whatever had shaken her out of her dream was gone, if it had ever existed. She was wet and needy, and she so needed to get laid. Penelope smiled grimly at her reflection in the bathroom mirror – what she could see of it without her glasses. Like getting fucked within an inch of her life was going to happen any time soon. Even in her dreams she never quite got there, damn it. In real life it would require a loss of control she'd never quite managed with any man. The few sexual encounters she'd had had left her unfulfilled, and the one time she had thought herself in love with a man, he'd thrown that love back in her face.

Disgusted with her train of thought, Penelope yanked on some shorts and a t-shirt, pushed her feet into her running shoes, and pulled her hair back into a rough ponytail. An early morning run would beat the unfulfilled desire out of her traitorous body. Shame she hadn't yet installed that punch bag. She would do so later today and stick the sneering face of her ex-fiancé to it for good measure. Marginally cheered at that prospect, she left her glasses on the bedside stand, stomped down the stairs and set off at a brisk jog round the Loch. She didn't need them to run. They only got in the way.

Forty-five minutes later, Penelope wished she had the blasted things with her. Huffing and puffing on her return trip she went flying. Whatever the shape was she just stumbled over, it moved and groaned. A very male groan. She squinted her eyes better to see and promptly shut them again. She was seeing things. Sure enough, after several furious blinks the shape on the pebbles, that minutes ago seemed to be only half human, had turned into a man. A very naked hunk of a man. Thankfully, or perhaps not – Penelope sniggered to herself – the man lay face down, his muscled back, trim ass, and powerful thighs clearly visible. The muscles in his huge shoulders bunched, and his biceps flexed as he struggled to push his big body upwards. Another groan and a muttered curse later, he collapsed on his side. Penelope swallowed nervously at the sight of pectorals to die for and a glimpse of rock hard abdominals dusted with a sprinkling of dark hair leading down to lean hips. She frowned at the dart sticking into one of those hips, the area around it swelling and turning purple. What the hell?

Another agonized groan from the man at her feet galvanized her into action. She dropped to her knees and yanked the dart out of his side. The animalistic roar in her ears sent a shiver of anticipation into her core. Instant moisture soaked her panties, and Penelope rolled her eyes at herself. This was ridiculous. The man was clearly in pain, and here she was lusting after his body like a bitch in heat. She tentatively touched his chest and reared back at the fierce heat she encountered. He was burning up.

"Who did this to you? Can you stand? We need to get you back to my place. I need to get help." The breathy words tumbled out one after the other, and Penelope shook the stranger's shoulders in an effort to rouse him. She brushed the silky strands of his hair off his face and froze when he opened his eyes. Even clouded with pain the golden eyes of her dream lover stared back at her. He mumbled something in a guttural language she didn't understand, and he lifted one large hand to touch her face. Penelope held her breath at the sensation of his calloused palm cupping her cheek. Darts of electricity arched along her skin; her mouth went dry, and her pussy clenched. He inhaled sharply and shook his head.

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