Blind Passion by Brannan Black

Blind Passion by Brannan Black

Blind Passion

Wolfman Tales, Book 1

by Brannan Black

Changeling Press

[ Futuristic Paranormal Romance, MMF ]

I never imagined coming face to face with two young beasts. They want my burrow — and me. And they aren’t planning to take no for an answer. It would seem my loneliness has ended. At least until they realize what a burden I will be. In a world where only the strongest survive, I’m excess baggage. Unless I can convince them otherwise.

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A warm body slides along my own. Hot, hard, smelling of male musk. Want rises from deep inside my belly. My hands rove over hard plains of muscle covering his chest. In a light dusting of hair, I find what I’ve been seeking, his flat man nipples. A brush across them, and he gasps and arches into my hand. I tease circles around and over them with my fingertips, harder as he pushes into my hand.

He cups my breasts, teasing my nipples hard. He slides down my body; trailing hot, wet kisses from my throat to my breast. I gasp at the intense pleasure his lips send zinging from my breast. He suckles me harder. Our bodies thrust and writhe against each other.

Heat pools in my pussy. It aches for the release only he can give. I spread my legs, bending at the knee so I can thrust up against his hard body, rubbing, thrusting, grinding my clit on him. Warm, wet cream slicks my passage. Passion pools between my thighs, hot, demanding, ready.

He slides up my body, the broad head of his cock teasing the sensitive lips of my pussy. More heat rises until a fire of desire consumes me. I grasp his hips, urging him deep. A single thrust, and I gasp, rising to meet

Nothing. I woke from yet another passion-filled dream. My pussy ached with desire. My heart bled from the emptiness that my life had become. Tears pooled in my eyes, and I curled around my pillow sobbing.

How long? How long have I been down here in the achingly lonely safety of my borrow?

Years, I think, at least three, since the world collapsed in the wake of a terrible virus that transformed good men into monsters. Years since my family sought refuge in this old fallout shelter that had later served as a hidden pot farm. My father, mother, brother and sister Jian were here in the beginning. Together we converted the shelter into a living space independent of the outside world. Almost independent. The virus still found us. It killed our father. Our brother? Gone without a trace. Our mother was torn to pieces in our old house tending both of them. We’d prayed it hadn’t been our own brother, maddened by the virus, who killed her. In the end, it left Jian and I alone, locked in the sheltered safety of our burrow.

Now Jian was gone. How long? I had no way of really knowing. She’d made me promise to stay locked inside until she returned. Without benefit of sun’s rising and setting, I could only guess. Three months, give or take. Three months of no one to talk to. No sound but my own breathing and heartbeat. The shelter was so far underground no noise from above reached us. No breath of a breeze caressed my skin or carried fresh smells. Nothing but stale air and silence.

Spent and empty as the last of my tears soaked into my lonely pillow, I decided it was time. My food stores were running low, and I resolved I would not die down here in the stark silence. I wanted to feel the sun on my face and the wind caressing my skin like the lover I longed for. I stifled a mad laugh, afraid once I started I’d never stop.

It was dangerous out there. Beasts that had once been men roamed the streets, attacking anyone or anything they found. Wild animals and starving packs of abandoned dogs hunted whatever was left. Even a simple accident could mean death without medical help. I knew this. Jian had known this before she braved the hazards made worse by winter weather, but we couldn’t wait to restock our fuel stores. Without the generator, we had no electricity for the heater fans or lights. Our lamp oil stocks were nearly gone, too. We’d hoped she could replenish our food stores and maybe even hunt some fresh meat.

Alone, I’d made it through the winter with extra blankets and thick clothing. I’d had no choice.

I stood still, holding my breath at the top of the stairs, ear pressed to the door. Silence, always silence. I cracked it open, and faint sounds flowed in. The soft sigh of a breeze rustling something against the side of the shed. The pot grower had built a workshop and storage shed over the bunker to hide his illegal activities.

I sat for a long time just listening to the breeze. The air in the shed smelled damp and had just enough chill to suggest it was still spring. Or maybe it had just rained. I didn’t really care right then. It felt so good after the stillness of my burrow. Propping open the hidden door that formed the back wall of the shed, I let the fresh air mix with the stale below. Danger or not, I would not close either of them and seal myself back inside what felt more like a tomb every day. Maybe tomorrow I would find the courage, or desperation, to venture beyond the shed.

* * *

Cautiously I pushed the door to the shed open. It’d taken me two days to work up the courage. I listened hard and heard only birds and a soft breeze through the grass. The loudest noise came from the pounding of my heart. I slipped to the side of the door and slid down the wall, basking in the warmth of the day. Sun from straight overhead meant midday. I’d thought it was morning.

I sat there, soaking up the sun until I worried I might burn. And all that time, I heard nothing but the gentle sounds of nature, birds singing all around, squirrels chattering, the wind sighing gently past, even the faint chirps of frogs somewhere in the distance. I smelled only damp, sun-warmed earth, grass and spring flowers. None of it suggested humanity had ever existed.

Stark loneliness flooded my heart and soul. I fled back inside, suddenly afraid to know if I was indeed the last human on the planet.

Two days later, the smell of rain sank into my sleep. Leaping up the stairs, I tripped and barely saved myself from a bad fall. Careful, I had to be careful because there was no one to help me if I got hurt. A deep chasm of despair opened in the pit of my gut. Was it worth it? Just surviving?

Rain tapped on the roof of the shed. I opened the door and let the fresh, cold air of the storm wash over me. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I shivered with a chill, all the while reveling in the sensations. The rain on the roof and splashing on the ground made a symphony for my starved ears.

I sat just inside the door until it ended. The world smelled so fresh and new after a storm passed. Birds sang in celebration of life. Or at least that’s how it felt to me. I could hold on a while longer. Today I would hold on to hope.

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[bctt tweet=”Read #excerpt of Wolfman Tales #BoxSet by @BrannanBlack #PNR #gay #menage”]