By MARIE TREANOR
Charlotte's been good too long. Now only a demon will satisfy her.
Charlotte is a reformed bad girl, who releases her inner demons through art. But her talent and her disastrous decision to marry a "good" man have attracted powerful interference. When her painting comes to life and her own sexy demon invites her into the orgy she created on canvas, she realizes she can't deny her identity or her desires any longer.
Charlotte let out a moan of need and frustration and fell backward onto the bed. Once, painting had been enough to calm her inner demons. Now it seemed she'd painted one so big that it was taking over.
She should close her eyes, force her tense, pulsing body to relax until blessed sleep took her. Instead, she rolled onto her stomach and twisted around so that she lay gazing at the painting, staring at her demon.
A rueful little smile tugged at her lips. "Well, demon? What would you actually do for me anyway?"
God, she'd painted those deep-set blue eyes so well. They actually seemed to change expressions. She even imagined his lips moved in a provoking, tempting smile, inviting her to find out.
"I'd love to," she whispered. "Do you know, I haven't had sex in six years?"
A slight change of her position altered his expression again, and that was good too -- a mixture of pity and flattering surprise, as if he wondered how someone as attractive, vital and talented as she could possibly be without a sexual partner for so long. Even better, she imagined a new urgency to the invitation of his reaching hand.
"I gave myself a fright," she explained. "When I was an art student, I was into everything, tried everything. I did exactly what I wanted, slept with anyone I wanted. Then one morning I woke up and realized I was failing my course, that I didn't like who I'd become. I hated being the art school slut, the bitch who stole other girls' men and spent most of her life out of her head. I hated the hangovers and the self-recrimination. So I turned it around. I went straight. I stopped drinking, I stopped taking drugs and sleeping around. I worked hard and scraped a pass just in time. I went back to my parents' church, and then I met James..."
Of course the demon in the picture would speak to her. And he would have that gorgeous, deep, seductive voice. It was natural. She'd probably drifted off to sleep. Whatever, it felt good to tell someone, even in her imagination.
"My ex-fiancé. He's a good man, works in local government. We were going to get married and have children."
"What's stopping you?"
"Sex." Charlotte laughed and wriggled, rubbing her breasts against the sheet beneath them. "Among other things. As good Christians and members of our church, we don't do sex before marriage."
"Get married," the demon advised. She liked the way his lips moved when he spoke -- sexy and tempting. She wanted to purr.
"Well, that's the thing," Charlotte explained. "I don't think I really love James any more than I loved any of the shits I slept with at college. He just seemed to be everything I wanted at the time. Only... he isn't. I messed up again." She gazed straight into the demon's eyes. "I want sex."
His smile seemed to widen. Lust stabbed straight to her womb, enticing, encouraging her to wicked elaboration. "I want wild, beautiful sex, lots of it in every imaginable way with a man who makes me scream for satisfaction and then gives me it."
The demon's eyes darkened, and yet flashed like fire. "I can do that."
Oh she'd just bet he could. This was a good dream. She propped her head up with her hand, adjusting position to allow him a tantalizing glimpse of her naked breasts. "And how would you do that, demon?"
Obligingly, his gaze lowered, swept across her shoulders and breasts like a caress. "However you want me to. And a few more ways you haven't thought of yet."
Oh yes. Involuntarily, Charlotte pressed her hips down into the mattress. It felt good, and yet only aroused a rush of stronger desire for real contact, flesh to flesh. "You're a good dream, demon."
"Then step into my world."
Yes, definitely, she was asleep, because she wasn't just putting words into his painted mouth; his outstretched hand actually turned; he crooked his finger.
"Come." His low, rich voice spoke straight to her clenching pussy.
I should wake up now... Please, no! What would happen if I actually got up and went to him? Would I feel the flesh of his hand? Or wet canvas?
There was only one way to find out...