If this was a psychic vision, it was certainly a realistic one. But Iris didn’t stop to wonder if Peyton was a spirit—or if she might be experiencing this through the eyes of his killer. Right now, all she could think was I want this man inside me—now.
Extra Sensual Perception by Debra Glass
When Iris Thompson is asked to use her psychic skills to help solve a string of recent deaths, she’s not surprised when her powerful intuition points to a serial killer, all evidence to the contrary. But she is surprised that, though there have been only three deaths, she psychically intuits four names.
Even more shocking are her erotic trances featuring the tall, dark and handsome fourth man, known only as Peyton. As the images grow more intense, more personal, Iris has precious little time to discover if her extra-sensual perceptions are leading her to a victim—or a future with the man of her dreams.
Even more shocking are her erotic trances featuring the tall, dark and handsome fourth man, known only as Peyton. As the images grow more intense, more personal, Iris has precious little time to discover if her extra-sensual perceptions are leading her to a victim—or a future with the man of her dreams.
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Excerpt:
Iris gasped as she came fully back to her senses. Her heart raced in her chest as she glanced around Bill’s office. She was still in the chair and still alone.
She crossed her legs and realized her vision had been extremely realistic. Her panties were damp and she was still throbbing from a bone-melting orgasm.
Blowing out a sigh, she raked her hand through her hair. She had never experienced anything so real—in or out of a psychic trance. She’d felt as if she were actually having sex with him.
As wonderful as it was, it hadn’t told her anything about what happened to those men. She gnawed her bottom lip.
In fact, her vision had only confused her more. Whoever Peyton was, he was the kind of man who enjoyed the pleasures life had to offer. He didn’t seem to be the sort who would off himself.
The door opened and Bill blustered in, carelessly sloshing coffee as he walked. He plopped down in the chair behind his desk. “What’d you get?”
Iris cleared her throat. A hot blush crept into her cheeks. “Their names.”
“Their names are in the folder. What’d you get that’s new?”
She swallowed thickly. “I got the name of a fourth victim.” But referring to Peyton as a “victim” made her blood run cold. After the intensity of her psychic vision, she didn’t want to consider that he might already be dead.
Bill raised a bushy brown eyebrow.
“Peyton,” she said and just uttering the name caused a wave of sweltering heat to roll up her spine and settle uncomfortably in the back of her neck.
“We don’t have a vic named Peyton. Is that a first name or a last name?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged off her sweater and then tugged at the collar of her blouse, reminding herself that not everyone could read minds. But she’d called him Peyton in the vision. “A first name.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. “Pretty sure.” Bill didn’t know what she was thinking and that was a good thing.
“Did you get anything on the killer?” he asked.
“That’s just it. I saw—in my head of course—one of them do it himself.”
Bill inhaled sharply and shook his head. “I may be about as psychic as a lump of coal but my gut tells me these guys didn’t want to kill themselves.”
“I don’t think so either.” Iris could hear herself carrying on a conversation with Bill but her thoughts were obsessing on Peyton.
“What about blackmail?” Bill asked. “What do you get on that?”
Iris was getting a “no” even as Bill asked the question. She shook her head. “It wasn’t blackmail.”
Peyton…
She couldn’t get him out of her mind and the promise of another psychic-sex-trance experience with him made her impatient to tune in again.
Tingles swept up her limbs as another thought occurred to her.
What if, the next time she opened psychically, she saw his death?
She crossed her legs and realized her vision had been extremely realistic. Her panties were damp and she was still throbbing from a bone-melting orgasm.
Blowing out a sigh, she raked her hand through her hair. She had never experienced anything so real—in or out of a psychic trance. She’d felt as if she were actually having sex with him.
As wonderful as it was, it hadn’t told her anything about what happened to those men. She gnawed her bottom lip.
In fact, her vision had only confused her more. Whoever Peyton was, he was the kind of man who enjoyed the pleasures life had to offer. He didn’t seem to be the sort who would off himself.
The door opened and Bill blustered in, carelessly sloshing coffee as he walked. He plopped down in the chair behind his desk. “What’d you get?”
Iris cleared her throat. A hot blush crept into her cheeks. “Their names.”
“Their names are in the folder. What’d you get that’s new?”
She swallowed thickly. “I got the name of a fourth victim.” But referring to Peyton as a “victim” made her blood run cold. After the intensity of her psychic vision, she didn’t want to consider that he might already be dead.
Bill raised a bushy brown eyebrow.
“Peyton,” she said and just uttering the name caused a wave of sweltering heat to roll up her spine and settle uncomfortably in the back of her neck.
“We don’t have a vic named Peyton. Is that a first name or a last name?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged off her sweater and then tugged at the collar of her blouse, reminding herself that not everyone could read minds. But she’d called him Peyton in the vision. “A first name.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. “Pretty sure.” Bill didn’t know what she was thinking and that was a good thing.
“Did you get anything on the killer?” he asked.
“That’s just it. I saw—in my head of course—one of them do it himself.”
Bill inhaled sharply and shook his head. “I may be about as psychic as a lump of coal but my gut tells me these guys didn’t want to kill themselves.”
“I don’t think so either.” Iris could hear herself carrying on a conversation with Bill but her thoughts were obsessing on Peyton.
“What about blackmail?” Bill asked. “What do you get on that?”
Iris was getting a “no” even as Bill asked the question. She shook her head. “It wasn’t blackmail.”
Peyton…
She couldn’t get him out of her mind and the promise of another psychic-sex-trance experience with him made her impatient to tune in again.
Tingles swept up her limbs as another thought occurred to her.
What if, the next time she opened psychically, she saw his death?
1 comment:
Interesting excerpt.
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