Dark storm clouds were gathering over the Alpine mountain top as Emma finally reached the refuge. Where were the others? Where was her husband Edward? Perhaps they had fallen behind and taken the safe track back toward St-Paul-des-Clercs and civilization, she wondered. Well there was no point in panicking now. Night was falling fast, and she would have to spend it up here all alone at the mercy of these peaks. Exhausted, she entered the deserted cabin and barely had time to strip off her drenched clothes and slip into the thermal sleeping bag that Edward had thoughtfully given her for their sixth anniversary, before a deep slumber overtook her naked body.
As even the moon retreated from the inhospitable horizon, strange and fitful dreams came upon her. She tossed and turned in the night, her feverish brow victim to wild imaginings, full of visions of werewolf-like creatures creeping around the cabin, circling, surrounding her with deep-breathing low whistles that seemed to hiss and crackle like FIRE?!!! Emma opened her eyes and shrieked in the empty night. There, across the room, stood the tall, dark stranger. She held her breath in terror as he looked up from the fire he had lit in the wide hearth and stared at her inscrutably. His eyes seemed to contain worlds beyond her ken.
“Who – who are you? What do you want?” she cried. The man made no reply, but simply tossed another log onto the fire with barely a flicker of his powerful deep-veined forearm. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Emma’s voice was trembling.
“Look, now, I don’t know what is going on but…”
He silenced her with a look from his piercing green eyes that seemed to cut right through her. Before she even realized what she was doing, Emma raced through the door in a mad dash for freedom, through the door and out into a thick curtain of rain lashing down over her exposed skin. He caught up with her easily, his strong arms grabbing her by the waist and hauling her back into the cabin. She writhed desperately in his grip until she could no more. He held her still, stared into her eyes and finally spoke in halting English, in the manner of one who seemed above words.
“Don’t. It is too dangerous out there for you. You are safe here with me.”
And somehow she knew that this was so.
The fire dispensed a warm glow to the room. Before she had even recovered from the onslaught of the elements, she was trapped in an embrace as power as any of Nature’s Furies. As the storm raged on outside, she stared into the infinite depth of his eyes. And then he was upon her, touching her deep within, roughly of course but with infinite tenderness. Suddenly lightning struck a tree nearby, while its thunder covered her animal moans. He held her tight for what seemed an eternity, until the first light of dawn broke the enchanting spell the mountain Gods had woven around them. And he was gone, as swiftly as he had come. Was it but a dream? Emma wondered wistfully, as she drifted off back to sleep smiling, her brow no longer troubled.
MEN:
Two blondes. Doing it. Together."
Now having never read a romance novel, yet pretty much intimating that the gist runs very closely along the lines of consensual rape, the aforementioned female fantasy seems pretty tyical. Yet, how can I follow the recipe when the ingredients reek? I refuse to partake in this fantasy on the principle of authorship. These few paragraphs were essentially copy/pasted out of a book that only sexually frustrated, involuntarily celibate saps would ever consider reading. It is beneath me. I'm a bodice-ripper snob and proud of it.
On the other hand, if I were remotely interested in blondes...
