Halloween Choose Your Own Adventure® - Day 8

NOTE: In case you have a boss who likes to look over your shoulder (or small yet literate child) today's installment could be considered NSFW (Not Safe For Work)

From now until Halloween, the Manuscript Mavens are running a Choose Your Own Adventure® story, in which YOU vote on what happens next! Every morning brings a new author, from the Mavens to the just-sold, to the best-selling. And every night brings a new twist!

Get your Choose Your Own Adventure® votes in by 8:00pm EST (5:00pm PST) and you'll be eligible for random prize drawings. Vote every day, and you'll be eligible for the Grand Prize--autographed books from Maven pals and Guest Mavens!

(No idea what's going on? Read the "rules.")

Continued...

In fact, the only thing left was Nightshade, looking both substantial and scrumptious now that his meal had put a bit of color back into sharp-boned cheeks. Mary stretched out her hand.

“Come here, big boy,” she said, as blood lust quickly turned to lust of another kind. “Let’s break a curse or two… together.”

Nightshade held out his gloved hand, which she took and led him back to Hemlock House, the zombies groaning over their meal behind them. Once inside, Mary locked the door and glanced around. They were alone.

Nightshade grabbed her roughly by the arms and made a feast--figuratively speaking--of her neck. In between nips and nibbles, he told her what he intended to do to her in naughty detail.

“Promises, my dear, Viscount. I require action. Unless, perhaps what my sister said of you was true?”

With a growl, he grabbed her hand and pressed it to his hot, thick sex. “I could not perform with Sarah. She did not fire my blood with her perfection. I wanted a real woman.”

“But I am not a real woman any longer, sir,” Mary reminded him.

“No,” he grinned, his icy eyes alight with heat. “You are better.”

Mary inhaled deeply and realized the air smelled different now. The pungency of death surrendered to the fragrant notes of need and desire. On a burst of laughter, she shot up the stairs, the viscount on her heels. They stopped at each doorway to kiss and grope and arouse. By the time she found a room that met her needs, both of them could not wait another moment for fulfillment.

Hemlock’s laboratory. Vials and beakers bubbled and steamed, filling the air with a dizzying perfume. The liquids inside, burbling in hues from richest amber to brilliant sapphires, enhanced the illusion that this was all a dream. With Nightshade behind her, pawing at her skirts until they bunched over her hips, she cleared the detritus from Hemlock’s desk, spun around, and climbed atop the teak surface.

Nightshade’s pupils expanded so that only a thin rim of silver gave off any light. In seconds, he’d ripped off his clothing and stood naked and proud before her. Mary could not help but peruse his sex hungrily, but luckily for both of them, her stomach was full. She wanted him inside her the old-fashioned way.

Boldly, she ripped away the stays of her dress. Only her chemise remained, though her action left a tiny hole in the silk, just above her nipple. She shifted so that the dark nubbin poked through, causing Nightshade to fall to his knees with desire.

And then he had his mouth on her, his tongue wicked as his hands worked their way up her thighs. She stopped him when the leather scraped against her flesh.

“Take off your gloves,” she demanded.

“I cannot,” he murmured against the swell of her breast.

“You must,” she insisted. “Do I not deserve as much? For what I have gone through? For what I have suffered at Hemlock’s hands? Only you can wash away the memories.”

Nightshade tore himself away from pleasuring her flesh with a reluctant groan, then undid the buttons at the base of his gloves. First the left, then the right. He moved to put a finger in his mouth, but she grabbed him by the hips, pulled him forward and whispered, “Allow me.”

One by one, she snagged the tip of the gloved fingers in her mouth and ripped the leather free. When she was done, she looked at his bare hands and gasped.

a) “What manner of curse could do such damage to you?” she asked, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes.

b) “I see now that the size of a man’s hands is indeed reflective of the size of his --”

c) Nightshade yanked his hands away, pressing them behind his back. He went lax and Mary silently cursed. Why could she not learn to keep her mouth shut until after the man had ridded her of her pesky virginhood?

d) “Why, sir...” she breathed, her entire body going hot as her mind danced with a hundred possibilities.

YOUR TURN: You decide what happens next! Leave your vote in the comments by 8pm (5pm Pacific) every day between now and Halloween---Tomorrow's story continued by debut Delacorte author Carrie Ryan with the twist YOU choose!

Today's continuation brought to you by New York Times best-selling author Julie Leto.