Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2022 Faedra Rose

  ISBN: 978-0-3695-0695-5

  Cover Artist: Jay Aher

  Editor: Jessica Ruth

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  This series is dedicated to all my fellow spooks, to those who love the darkness and live for the excitement and thrill of Halloween! You are my people, and I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I did writing it. Stay spooky monster lovers!

  SINISTER DESIRES

  Loving Monsters, 1

  Faedra Rose

  Copyright © 2022

  Chapter One

  Flicking up the collar of my leather jacket, I adjust my scarf to protect my neck from the bitter chill. The one downside of having a funky neon orange pixie cut during fall—a bare neck. Breathing into my gloved hands for extra warmth, I watch as my escaping breath mists in the air before whorling away on the breeze.

  The blood moon of All Hallows’ Eve hangs high overhead, its lurid radiance obscured by the twisting and gnarled branches of the woods. A piercing screech in the night disturbs a colony of bats and they take to the sky, their small silhouettes dancing chaotically past the moon.

  I could kick myself for my current predicament; not that I mind the dark or solitude. But what kind of idiot gives her ex a second chance? Tonight, we were meant to just hang out, drive around town trick-or-treating like old times, and then we were going to take our ill-gotten gains to The Lookout and enjoy sexy Halloween fun in the backseat…

  I should have known it was a trick. Jerks don’t change their colors. So instead of rekindling our college romance, he thought humiliating me in front of all the other couples at The Lookout would be a spectacularly funny way to wrap up our sham of a date. The fucker took my candy, then kicked me out of the car, leaving me alone and with no way of getting home.

  I could fucking scream. The next time I see Cooper, it’s going to be the last time he has functional balls—and I’m not talking about the ones he plays gridiron with! Ugh. So, now, here I am, walking for miles through the woods that back onto all the old farms in the region. Some still have elderly caretakers, but most are derelict and abandoned—left to rot and ruin after the last generation of farmers passed on.

  Farrowville doesn’t have space in its heart for people like me. Like most of Iowa, it’s a town full of Midwestern born and bred families. They go to church, follow sports, and give casseroles to new neighbors. Nothing ever changes here, and everyone knows everyone else. There’s no place for a bold, gothic artist with dreams of making a difference in the world. I got out of this hole as soon as I could, my salvation coming in the form of an acceptance to an esteemed arts college just out of state.

  But, like so many others, I don’t have the heart to entirely divorce myself of my family. We might not gel on all things, but my folks have supported my dreams, as unconventional as they have always been. And I don’t hate seeing my siblings. Yes. Plural. All five of them. Out of the lot, I’m the ugly duckling, the fish out of water—the one that has just never fit in. Despite that, we get along in our own strange way.

  So that’s why I’m back here on familiar turf again to begin with. I’m home for the holidays, paying my expected familial dues. Playing nice with my brothers and sisters, sharing stories over piss-flavored cider, and gathering around our old twelve-seater table for Mom’s famous spiced pumpkin pie. Mom’ll be upset that I didn’t call them for a lift, but I’m not a little girl anymore, and I think sometimes she forgets that. At twenty-three I may be the youngest of the Llewellyns, but I pride myself on my independence.

  I purse my lips as the temperature seems to drop the deeper into the woods I go. It makes sense. The microclimate of the dell and the trees would hold the moisture and cool in, trapping the rising damp of the earth. All the same, it sets my nerves on edge, and my heart races. I love superstition, and I love nothing more than the thrill of being afraid. It’s why I gravitated toward the goth lifestyle and why I enjoy risk-taking.

  Life is meant to be lived, and if the world’s going to be a bitch and scare the crap out of you from time to time, you might as well learn to revel in it! I grin despite myself and allow my imagination to run wild, viewing the woods through new eyes. Shadows loom, stretching their long, crooked fingers across the dark, leaf-littered ground, and I wonder—what if the trees were sentient beings? What if on Halloween their spirits break free of their bark-covered shells to roam free?

  I snicker, my black boots squelching through the seasonal puddles underfoot. A long, mournful howl breaks the night’s intrepid silence, and my voice catches in my throat as I come to a stand-still. Eyes wide, I hug myself, alertness thrumming through every fiber of my body like fire. I didn’t think of the wolves… I realize. And I’m completely unarmed. I don’t even have keys on me, just my phone.

  A second howl joins the first, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Licking my chapped lips, I swallow the sour bile that threatens to rise up my throat. Dancing with danger is one thing, but being torn apart—alive—by hungry wolves? Not my idea of fun. Picking up my pace, I set off into the darkness, following the worn trail through the trees toward home.

  There’re still a few miles between me and the family farm, and I know I can’t outrun wolves; nor can I run with them, though all those feminist quotes would have you believe otherwise. My only hope is that they decide I’m not worth the effort. Goddammit. With my generous curves, maybe there’s no hope at all? Truth is, I’d probably make a great meal for half a dozen ravenous wolves. Mom always says fat equals flavor! Ugh. The irony.

  Mist rolls in, filling the dell and obscuring everything below my knees. “Shit,” I breathe. There are bound to be obstacles on the old path, and now I’m not going to be able to see them until it’s too late. Howls fill the woods, one, two, three … maybe six or seven? I’m not sure. And then I hear the sound of padded footfalls in the darkness. They’re flanking me, getting ready for the take-down. Heart thundering in my chest, I’m all out of options.

  Pumping my arms for all I’m worth, I sprint headlong into the shadows. With my pulse thumping in my ears, all I can hear, now, is the sound of my own labored breathing and the occasional drawn-out howl as the wolves close in.

  I’m not ready to die! I cry out in my mind—to God, the universe, my foremothers, or All Hallows’ spirits; I can’t be sure. Everything that has previously existed in my life has narrowed down to one imperative goal: survive. Heart set on home, I push myself until my lungs are burning and a pain flares in my side, stealing the breath from me. I gasp out in pain, my hand finding the confluence of my hip. A fucking stitch! You’ve got to be kidding me. Not. Now!

  But in the next second, the stitch is the least of my problems. Something catches my boot, and suddenly I’m airborne. A scream rips from my throat as I fly for what seems like forever. I hit the sodden ground hard and shriek as pain radiates through me from my chest. My ankle feels like it’s at entirely the wrong angle.

  “Fuck!” I sob, drawing myself up onto my knees. Reaching out for something, anything, with which to support myself, I find a large crooked stick. Gritting my teeth, I mutter a string of profanities under my breath as I clutch it with both hands, pulling myself up by sheer force of will. A low growl rumbles behind me, and I forget how to breathe. This is it. This is where I make my stand. This is where I die—in the woods on Halloween. Fucking perfect. A ridiculously nervous, bordering on maniacal laugh escapes me as I turn to face the wolf.

  “All right, bitch,” I say, raising the stick like a baseball bat. “Let’s do this. If I’m going to die, you’re going to be chewing on my fat ass with one mother fucker of a headache!”

  The wolf growls again, baring its fangs in a vicious snarl of warning.

  “Come on!” I goad. “What are you waiting for?”

  The wolf lowers its head, pawing at the earth as it gets ready to launch.

  No. Fuck you! And then, committing my weight to the swing, I lash out first, bringing the stick around in a wide arc. I catch the side of the wolf’s face, and it seems as though the moment plays out in slow motion. I see the wolf’s flesh ripple with the impact of my blow, and its nose scrunch as the force knocks its head to the side—causing it to stumble and yelp.

  “Come on! Is that all you’ve got? Where are your friends?” I shout, trying to ignore the searing pain in my ankle. I gingerly put weight on it, struggling to keep my balance. The wolf growls again, and its pack stalks from the darkness. “All right, now this is a party!” I scream at them, gripping the stick tight. If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging!

  The wolves’ golden eyes glimmer in the moonlight like jewels. They’re such beautiful beasts. If only they weren’t trying to eat me… A brisk breeze ruffles my hair, and the air behind me chills so suddenly, and unexpectedly, that it feels like some cruel trickster has snuck up on me and tipped a bucket of ice-water down my spine. I freeze in place as the wolves whine. One after the other, they back-step, their glittering eyes focused somewhere behind me. Then the wolves flee as one, turning on their heels, deciding that I’m not worth standing up to whomever—or whatever—lurks at my back, bringing the chill of the grave with it.

  Trembling, I will myself to turn and face my unexpected savior. Or is it damnation? Agonizingly slowly I find the courage to pivot around. Eyes on the ground, my gaze travels up a weathered black trench coat which whispers eerily in the mist as if it’s alive, like sentient, breathing shadows. I swallow the bile that creeps up my throat, daring to look higher still.

  An imposing figure reveals broad shoulders, and upon those intimidating shoulders sits a pumpkin—a jack-O-lantern to be exact. With the most menacing, soul-sapping, sharp-toothed grin, and angled, hollowed-out eyes that burn not with the innocent flames of tea-light candles, but with the fucking fires of Hell. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound escapes. Not even a squeak. My lips move, but my lungs fail me.

  The jack-O-lantern opens its coat with long, green, provocatively clawed fingers to reveal an equally moss-green body; the body of a man, but not. My unblinking gaze trails down solid pecs to find a ridiculously ripped set of abs … and then… Sweet mother of God! This abomination is packing the biggest, thickest cock I’ve ever seen. It must be twelve inches! And it’s green, too!

  I can’t do anything but stare, immobile as the monster steps closer, its blazing eyes dancing with a terrifying intelligence. I gasp as a leafy vine creeps out from under his trench coat, trailing over the moist earth. Its delicate tendrils twist around my ankle, wrapping it up like a bandage of green gauze; then they tighten, and a cry bursts out of me at the sharp but fleeting pain that follows. I watch with rapt fascination as the vines uncoil, releasing my leg, only to disappear back beneath the jack-O-lantern’s coat of darkness.

  I instinctively twitch my ankle, then gasp, glancing up at the towering monster before testing my weight on it. “It doesn’t hurt,” I whisper in awe. “You fixed it?”

  The jack-O-lantern tilts its pumpkin head the way a curious cat might, as if it wants to communicate.

  “Thank you,” I stammer, raising my voice above a whisper. “You saved me from those wolves, and now you’ve re-set my foot.” I lick my lips nervously when no conversation is forthcoming. “Can you speak?”

  The monster shakes its head slowly from side to side, never taking its burning eyes from me. It watches me for a time. Then another tendril snakes out, writhing toward me to seize my wrist, tightening just enough to hurt. It tugs, drawing me nearer and nearer. I stumble forward, eyes wide, my heart in my throat as the living pumpkin vines pull my gloved hand toward its monstrous, green, dark-veined cock.

  I know I should pull back, but I’m mesmerized. Oh, what the absolute fuck, Charleigh? You want to touch it? I bite my inner lip as my fingers come to hover just above its heinously impressive length. I don’t know what to say or what to think. And then the words tumble from my lips before I can make sense of them. “You did save me…” I reason. If it had wanted to kill me, it would have done so already. If the monster just wants a little tug of gratitude, what’s the harm?

  “You’re not going to kill me, are you?” I ask plaintively, my dark eyes searching the Hellfire in his. “I’m going to touch you now…” I say, as much to myself as to the jack-O-lantern. Licking my lips, I take a deep breath and allow the tips of my fingers to trail along its cock. It’s warm. Not what I was expecting at all. The tendril on my wrist eases its grasp the more I cautiously explore.

  In the next instant, its long fingers are on both my shoulders, pushing me down. Oh, God. It wants a fucking blowjob! I’m alone in the woods on All Hallows’ Eve, unarmed, and a monster is forcefully guiding me to my knees. And I have to admit, I’m filled with no small amount of mortal horror, but I’m also disturbingly turned on. I’ll be the girl that not only met a monster, but also sucked one off! I don’t think it gets any more goth than that.

  “All right,” I say. “Have it your way.”

  The jack-O-lantern removes its hands as I kneel on the damp ground and wrap one hand around its pulsing green cock. Glancing up into its fiery eyes once more, I hold out my tongue, leaning forward, and cautiously lick the gleaming green tip. I recoil as its slick juices touch my tongue, assaulting my tastebuds. I can’t believe it. There are no words. Its pre-cum tastes like fucking candy! “Holy shit.” I can’t help the deviously sly and excited smile that curves my lips as I go in for another taste.

  Chapter Two

  While his pre-cum tastes like candy, the green flesh of his cock tastes like oven-roasted pumpkin. It’s sweet and savory all at once. The dark veins pulse rhythmically under my fingertips as I stroke the monster’s cock and trail my tongue around its enormous, smooth head. What is this creature? I wonder. How can a beast be so inhuman and human at the same time? And why, for the love of God, why are my insides tingling?

  The familiar ache of desire causes my cunt to throb, and I know in my gut that I need this nightmarish cock filling me as surely as I need air to live. The thought of its length and girth stretching and violating my very small but buxom human form has me clenching my thighs in angst. I’m wet. Sweet God, what is wrong with me? But I can’t deny how I feel. And this monster … this jack-O-lantern, has yet to harm me.

  Perhaps I’ll walk away from this encounter unscathed. Or perhaps, once it’s had its way with me, it’ll kill me. Maybe it’ll burn me from within with its blazing Hellfire, immolating me alive? Or maybe it’ll use those ghastly claws to rip my still-beating heart from my breast, and leave what remains of me for the wolves, after all? I can’t know. And the truth is, after what happened earlier tonight with Cooper? I don’t fucking care.

  Maybe it’s always been my destiny to fuck a monster? Maybe it’s fate that everything has unfolded precisely as it has to bring me to this precise moment, here and now, blowing an urban legend in the middle of the woods on Halloween? My goth heart thrills at the ludicrously absurd idea. Fuck it. Live or die, I’m doing this!

  Taking the monster’s cock in both hands, I open wide, enveloping its head with the warmth of my mouth. Its slick sweetness coats my tongue as my lips stretch to accommodate such an ass-puckeringly huge dick. The jack-O-lantern groans as its cock hits the back of my throat. The sound is as unsettling as it is hot, and I feel inspired to take the beast as deep as humanly possible. Soon, I feel the rake of claws through my hair, trailing lightly over my scalp. Then the monster takes a hold of my head, guiding me forward, encouraging me to take more and more.

  As I relax my gag reflex, I relinquish my hold on his cock and allow the monster to use me as he wills. For it, I am a willing hole, and I want it to seek its dark pleasures in me. The monster inches forward, holding my head in a terrifying, vice-like grip while thrusting its green beast down my throat. In and out, again and again, the breathtaking cock is relentless in seeking the deepest depths it can reach, sometimes cutting off my air supply altogether. I gasp around it, the brisk night air filling my hungry lungs, my eyes watering.

  It’s so fucking big there is just no fitting it all in! I’ve deep-throated my fair share of college men, and even the biggest of them would feel my lips wrapped around their base, their firm balls slapping against my chin as they impatiently sought their own orgasm—with little regard for my own. The jack-O-lantern withdraws entirely then, his erect cock dripping more of that cloyingly sweet pre-cum. It releases my head and strokes my cheek with the back of its sinister curved claws, as if to say good girl. The strange, small measure of affection and praise makes my ego soar and my heart sing.

  Catching my breath, I sit back on my heels, looking up at my very own nightmare. He’s horrifying, but perfectly so, like a dark, twisted artwork brought to life. I lick my lips and moan. When did my hand slip under my dress and between my legs? All I know is that I’m horny as hell and sopping wet; my musk leaks down my thighs, sticky and warm.

 

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