Wundervölker, Monstrosität und Hässlichkeit im Mittelalter (German Edition)

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She could feel him in the darkwood and the castle, the crofts of her people and the distant reaches of the Northlands. Death was coming. My tired brain scans the group once more. I blink a few times to clear my vision. Can jet lag cause strange hallucinations? Have I stumbled into the wrong house? Pulling the hood over my head, I schooled my features into what was supposed to be an icy mask.

Not the most beautiful, that particular position was and would remain for Simon. But this man lying before me, most certainly made the sainted angels cry crimson tears of envious jealousy. Working with fairies was hard enough without stuff like this happening. Bad enough they walked around oozing pure sex at you all day long. She shook the cuffs experimentally. They were fluffy, but tightly attached. Then Emma saw herself in the mirror over the brass bed she was secured to. Apparently the munchkins from the wizard of Oz had gotten a hold of her, because her hair seemed to be in Dorothy-visiting-the-castle ringlets.

Hairdressing fairies. After all, a cursed woman has needs, too. The only problem is with the bodies. This cop has been a real nuisance. I also offer my Congratulations to Shannon and Diane. Not surprised though. Both have great voices. Congrats to the winners!! I would pick up both books immediately if I read the first hundred words. Congrats, you earned it. With her lips parted, she pressed a finger to the tip of her tongue and lowered her eyes, trailing her moistened finger down her neck, along the contour of her cleavage to where a pendant nestled between her breasts.

She was betting Mr. Handsome High Roller was ripe for the picking. Bossman was getting a trial blowjob in there. And the she-male was having one heck of an audition. I could hear the slurping through the closed door. Her shoulder length black hair looked silky, like she was one of those women who gave it a hundred strokes a night. Her face, despite the worried look and dark circles, was stunning. Monsoons filled that summer, and she filled his heart.

Later, during evening storms, he thought of the sudden shadows her breasts made with every flash of lightning.

The most heated, passionate and intense letters of love, lust and anger ever written

Thought of how the rain would seep into her and give her its wetness, until she was fluid all around him, her skin slick with it, her cries dissolving. They moved with the same steady rhythm of the drumming of the water. And when he called her name in that last desperate delving for her innermost secrets, the thunder drowned his voice.

Officer Annie Johnson gazed at her breasts barely covered by the wonder woman costume and sighed. Annie took a deep breath, strutted onto the stage in time to the throbbing music. She scanned the line of men seated along the stage. There he was, center stage just as the past three nights. She swayed across the stage to the middle pole, swung around it and winked at her target.

He picked up his longneck bottle, tipped it toward her and took a long drink. I loved the winning paranormal entry. Congrats, Shannon. I reached for the buttons of my blouse with shaky fingers and tried to ignore Sir and Mistress, who stood watch over me. Sir had given the order. I flinched when he flicked the ends of the flogger he held against his leather pants. The snapping, hissing sound terrified me. Excited me. If he had come for her, she would gladly accompany him. Even after all these years, his proximity sent revulsion crawling over her skin.

Stifling a yawn, she watched a rivulet of water trickle down her shoulder to her naked breast, down her stomach to splash on the black leather chair where she lounged. Allowing her towel to slip from her just showered body, she stretched. The only comfort of living alone. I moved just a hint towards him, just enough for him to know what I wanted. He slid his finger under my panties and began stroking me. I have a question, though. It seems that the entries in the first person are doing better.

Are we seeing a change in genre writing? Thank you for your answer ahead of time and for this contest. Nicci Palmetti had always been adventurous, the first willing to try something new. Least of all herself. For three nights now, her dreams had been filled with visions of the stranger.

Not that the other dreams were anything spectacular. In one, he cleaned his kitchen; the other, unpacked boxes. Granted, the unpacking was done shirtless and his body was definitely fun to watch! But tonight? Jerking off in the shower? Abby drew a sharp breath. Men loved Synda and she loved them. Her cheeks colored beneath a thin layer of perspiration, something Synda could not hide with her fair skin, and the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Thanks for your question. Overall, I think it can be tougher to write in the first person.

So when we see one that really works, it tends to stand out from the crowd. You should always write in the POV that feels right to you. Sebastian Kincaid did not want to hear the answer. The three of them were having lunch on the patio of a lovely little bistro. Sebastian lowered his sunglasses and glanced at the other tables. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to them. Matchbook and emergency candles in hand, I was distracted by the voices coming from the reading room as I re-entered the hallway and ran into a wall of sculpted muscle, highlighted by a clean, masculine scent.

My sense of sight was useless, but the other five were on full alert. Strong hands caressed by breasts as I dropped the matchbook and candles so that I could unbutton his pants. Nikki shook her head. She almost felt sorry for the kid in the piece of shit Honda, revving his engine, signaling he wanted to race. But dammit, it was fun. Did he really think his horsepower Civic could compete with her Shelby GT? Forget having one of the fastest reaction times in all the NHRA, the power of her Mustang alone would leave him sitting there wondering what happened.

Tess Sheridan squirmed in her chair in the upscale Vancouver bar. Tess stared down her best friend sitting across the small table. What do you want me to do? Send invitations to the whole bunch and stage an orgy? Zane McCade shook his gorgeous booty in time to the heavy music. The curvy blonge hanging all over him gyrated like a lap dancer desperate for a tip.


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The hussy could take a breather any minute, because Jacey had her own plans for Zane. As the crisp night air spilled in through the crack that opened the inside of the vehicle up to the rest of the world, sex slithered against sex and awakened ravenous appetites. It was different, every time, which made it worth the excruciating wait.

These stolen minutes were hollowed out of the night, and with them came new insight and, without doubt, pleasure. As he came, he thought he was almost whole again. Roses are red…blood red, Violets are withered and black. Sawyer Burke peeled open his eyes and glared at the ceiling of his basement apartment.

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Sometimes he hated New York. On his timetable would be nice. He would have my body, and I would reclaim my soul. Catherine shoved the magazine closer. Ursula scanned the article and chuckled. Their calculations are always wrong. She flicked the handle and watched the lash sail in the air. Her stomach roiled in disgust. Throwing the whip, she sent it flying across the chamber. It slammed against the wall and fell with a dull thud. Taking over the kingdom should have filled her with a sense of purpose, but it only brought her an abyss of emptiness. With a heavy sigh, she plumped down into the gaudy black velvet throne.

Not only was her sister a deranged tyrant, her decorating skills lacked. On the morning of her scheduled execution, she lingered in the putrid cot and stretched until the shackles gouged her bare ankles. Poor dumb bastard. Meet her Maker easily? She was anything but easy. Evacuated during her seduction dance, no doubt. Would you like to come out and play? Mac Davies grinned.

Leaning across the desk, he punched the speaker button before hanging up the receiver. If he was about to be turned on, he wanted both hands free to enjoy the experience. Amber Morgan paced the balcony of the twentieth story penthouse suite that had been rented for her.

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She was supposed to kill Jordan Richards. Her spine stiffened. The dim flicker of candlelight cast strange shadows across the blood colored walls. The entire room was decorated in rich reds and purples, and the woman who lived there was just as interesting in a dark and colorful way. She was no virgin. This woman knew what she wanted in the bedroom and knew how to get it. She had a large drawer filled with sex toys, including the leather straps that now held her hands taught against the bedposts.

Lurking behind the wall, she listened as they talked without a doubt about her. Were you lucky enough to have those luscious lips wrapped around your dick? Jasmine read the sign for the third time. Glancing down at her itinerary, she groaned. That stupid travel agent chose the wrong cruise line. A woman wearing a silver studded black leather teddy sauntered by with leash in hand. Attatched to the leash, an equally leather-clad man crawled next to her.

Dragged from my fantasy, I sighed. Bleak reality replaced the beauty of my imagined Adonis. I slumped in my chair. I was back in my cubicle with a dying fern and a photo of my cat. Judging by her wrinkled blouse, mussed hair and the light pink marks around her mouth, she and Mr. Marcus had just had coitus interoffice. The son of a bitch was going to kill her with sex…again, but what else could she expect from a rogue sex demon.

His small, sharp fangs bit lovingly into her shoulder as Fallyn whispered directly into her mind, Let me pleasure you, little Raven, and I swear, with your next life, the surrender will be mine. Letting the dagger fall, she accepted his bargain. All the air had been sucked out of the room as if someone flicked a switch and turned on a giant vacuum. At least, that was how it felt to Lauren. It was summer, but the heat and humidity outside had nothing to do with the fact that she was having trouble catching her breath. Besides, the funeral home was air conditioned.

Five minutes earlier, she complained to Kenny that she was freezing. Of course, that was before Jake Clayton stepped into the room. The man could look at an iceberg and turn it into steam. Bright lights pulsed neon colors.

The air conditioning, permanently set on high, loudly whirred. A typical night at the Lothario Lounge. Then Antonio deLuc spotted a tall strawberry blonde in barely there black. Bloody hell. Before she could be squished, she was scooped up and cradled gently against a broad chest covered in an expensive suit. She looked up and gasped at his far too familiar face. Rich Wolf. His family was one of the few hers feared.

A desperate plan bloomed. Faint remnants of sunlight colored the sky, beyond a ridge of black that dressed the horizon with a sheet of midnight. Up ahead a faded sign trumpeted the town of Whitehead. His cock roared to life, and he licked his lips in anticipation of all those bodies.

Human bodies. He glanced toward his handsome companion, and shrugged internally. Scenting the air, he smiled. There should be plenty of women to fuck. Kristen sat down, elbows on the desk, God help her, and she ran her fingers through her hair. Meredith Sullivan rolled her eyes. Leave it to her partner to make light of a crime scene. He just happened to be having sex when it happened. I sat scrunched around a bunch of crazy, drunk, and sex-starved housewives and divorcees. Banging Bigfoot. Carmen Foxx. Mina Shay. Hard Bigfoot Breeding. Cora Adel. Mallorie Griffin. Kylie Ashcroft. Cum Cabin.

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