Guest Blogger Alexandra Christian

Fucking Scary

               By Alexandra Christian

Do you like being scared? Your heart races faster and faster as the situation intensifies. Your skin becomes cool with sweat, almost clammy. You can’t seem to catch your breath and every gasp makes your lungs ache with the exertion. Tiny noises escape your throat as you struggle to keep control. Finally, your fear reaches its pinnacle and a bloodcurdling scream is ripped from your throat. Does this sound familiar? If I had left out the word “fear,” I could have been describing an orgasm. Its no secret that sex and fear are old friends. Very few emotions make us feel such intense passion, sharp sensation and oh so alive.

The genre of paranormal romance was born out of this blending of fear and fantasy. Nothing gets the chemistry between two people bubbling like the possibility of death. It’s the basis of conflict. As one of the angels in a movie called “A Life Less Ordinary” says, “Jeopardy, Jackson.” Put your hero and heroine in jeopardy and they’re sure to fall in love. Or at least in lust for a few pages. Its always amazed me how right in the middle of a horror movie, just when the characters are about to be eaten by a werewolf or axed by a masked killer—that’s when they decide to get it on in the bushes. But if you think about it, it makes perfect sense. If I thought that this might be my last night on Earth, I’d be in there jumping the hubby’s bones, not sitting here typing this blog post.

With all this in mind, I’d like to share an excerpt of my very first published work, Hellsong. It’s the story of a lonely woman, Theo Chandler, who has been wandering through her life in post-Katrina New Orleans having no recollection of who she was before that fateful night when she was found just after the storm. Little does she know that she’s Hell’s ultimate weapon in the war on humanity, hunted by minions of Satan AND agents of God. The only one who can help her is one of the Grigori, Saraqael, an angel sent to Earth to protect mankind.

“Everything matters, Theo.” He kissed her mouth again, knowing that it was wrong. Knowing that with every kiss, every touch of her hand, he was getting closer to the point of no return. And it could cost him everything. Protecting her was one thing. Falling for her charms was another. He knew by the way she panted, offering more of herself to him, that she was giving in. Her thoughts betrayed her, telling him just how to touch her, just want she wanted. He was so overcome with sensation and need that the voices of reason were already drowning in the flood. He should not want this. He should not crave more of her skin. Pleasures of the flesh had never been such a temptation before. Even as his fingertips were wandering closer to the button of her shapeless blue jeans, he knew he was wrong. But he simply did not care.

“Please, Saraqael,” she whined against his lips. “I need to feel something other than this fear. I want to know what‟s real.” She rolled her hips against his, feeling his cock, hardened like the stone flesh of the angel. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to fill that empty space that was gnawing at her insides. He couldn't explain it, but this was supposed to happen.

Saraqael growled in response. He felt a sense of urgency as he pushed his hands down the back of her pants to feel her smooth flesh. Something in the back of his mind kept tickling his subconscious, but he tried to push it away. He deserved this. Just this one thing. He’d been here so long and done exactly what was expected of him. He no longer cared if it meant an eternity in Hell. He was going to fuck this demon.

His hands tangled in the luxuriant piles of waves that fell messily to her shoulders, pulling her in for another delirious kiss. Her lips tasted of milk and honey and the more frenzied they became, the sweeter the taste. It was as if ambrosia, the food of Heaven, dripped from her lips. It ignited his desire tenfold and, suddenly, he was gripped with a hunger that was almost painful. She was kissing her way down his chest, pausing to scrape her teeth over each of his nipples and using her tongue to trace the blue markings, which were starting to glow in the twilight.

Her hands fell heavily on his stomach, pressing him backward until he lay prone beneath her, propped on his elbows. He watched her eyes follow the lines of his body down to the open fly of his jeans. The fabric sat low on his hips, exposing the points of his pelvic bone and the perfectly formed muscles of his midsection. Her fingertips reached out to touch the V that crossed over his hips. They made an arrow that seemed to point downward to the delicious flesh that still remained hidden to her eyes.

He gasped when he felt her hands steal away into the open zipper to feel the pulse of the vein at the base of his cock. “God, Theo,” he growled, arching his hips toward her in encouragement.

*******************

The line between fear and ecstasy is very thin. There’s a reason why the French call an orgasm La petite mort—the little death. For a moment in time you can feel your soul separating from your body and though its frightening that you can be so out of control, its exhilarating.

Happy reading!

Hellsong is available HERE, Amazon and AllRomance eBooks.

And don’t forget to check out my blog, The Southern Belle from Hell.

 I can also be found on Twitter and Facebook