Hide and Seek: An Erotic Interlude
Selene Coulter
Published by Hooper Publishing at Smashwords
© 2011
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Author’s Note
This short piece of erotic fiction is the first in a series of three. To me, these characters are both familiar (I’ve had a glimpse into their lives for the last six months), and yet stubbornly elusive (they like to shroud themselves in shadow).
You can view this series as ‘the outtakes’. After all, in the main story, these ladies rarely get the chance to be this hot and sweet. Or you can view these as deleted bonus scenes: the ones the censors never let you watch.
Most importantly, I hope you enjoy their story.
It’s one hell of a bumpy ride.
I wait. Two words just barely in my vocabulary. Anticipation, more than dampness of the night, tightens my skin. I rub my bare arms to try and lessen tension, but the touch ends up far more of a caress. My hand moves to the tree, the bark feels rough against my palm; a contrast. To the rest of me: a liquid heat.
This is just a child’s game. It’s silly.
Why can’t I catch my fucking breath?
The tips of my incisors tease my tongue. A viscid pulsing slows my heartbeat. The earthy musk of undergrowth hangs heavy in the air. Cries of the wildlife occasionally pierce the darkness. Tonight each one of them rings out a moan. My newly honed senses reach into the night, cautious not to give myself away. She’s absent from the grounds. The challenge sparks my temperature.
It spikes.
Our connection flares at that: a jerk. My smile deepens. Her composure can’t disguise the nature of the beast. It hungers for the kill, the chase, the passion. My fingers move against the tree: a slow, deliberate caress.
Another flash.
A stifled whimper.
It shoots a trickle down my spine.
The first time that I got her off like this, just through the link, without touching, she simply lay there, completely stunned. “Fuck me. I just went from a ten to bloody Mastercard.” When she didn’t laugh, I added, “Priceless.” That was before I’d found out that she didn’t own a TV. Of course her need to document this ‘quaint phenomenon’ prevailed. I can’t exactly say it’s been a chore.
My fingers brush the bark, find a whorl, and circle it. Imagination melts the surface into skin. Incisors prod insistently; my tongue flicks out, lacking purpose: there’s not a lick of moisture in my mouth. The swipe tingles my lips—a further burning. The same slow burn kindles another set of lips.
My finger changes pace instinctively; another rhythm. My breath is ragged, hard, a misty cloud.
Oh God.
I am the only one that makes her say that. The thought transmits directly to my clit. “Fuck.” Jeans feel tight: an inhibition. My left hand fumbles with the zip.
Don’t stop. Oh God, don’t stop.
Being a mixed breed sure has advantages. But doing two things at once is hard even for me.
The zip catches, resists. She is the only one that makes me clumsy. Destroys the one thing I can still control.
The forceful yank breaks metal, and my fingers curl—
No.
Her command has power even here. She is my sire. I obey. My other finger gently flicks the whorl, her clit, as if I lay beside her. Once. Twice. Until I feel her twitch. And then I brush her slowly with my mouth; a ghostly whisper of my lips. She bucks. My left hand grips the bark. My own hips whine: an incessant begging. They cling and strain for a phantom touch.
A thrust.
A ridge.
Right at the level that I need it.
The involuntary jab sends shivers through my clit.
No.
My momentum stills mid-thrust. I don’t bother to fight it. Her strength is greater, centuries ahead of mine.
“Bitch.” My words are far more grumble than displeasure, a muffled exhalation over tracing hand. I know in this arena I am the master. The game is over and I’ve won.
Lowering my mouth to hover over pine, I blow, pause for a second, then I tongue. She’s pliant, hot; she weeps with moisture. Curling my tongue, I press, lick, swipe and lash.
It doesn’t take long. Feels like forever.
You… don’t… play… fair…
Our connection bursts to life.
My lips twist into needy triumph. Incessant throbbing scorches every cell. My skin feels tight, wracked by an itch that plagues us both. I claim my win: Just barely graze the bark.
A scream. A telling give. My hips spring free, erratic motion. Encounter the spectre of hot skin. I see the fireplace, the long-abandoned house, her naked form sobbing and writhing on the rug. I try to stop. But I am too far gone now. The time to join her in person far too long.
My moans are sounds only she can hear. The friction of the jeans forces my thong into my soaked folds. Her body arches off the floor, suspended in the cresting moment. My arms convulse around the tree.
Oh, God. Oh… God.
Just as she peaks, I whisper, “Found you.”
And then I bite down with my fangs.
Her pulsing amplifies the link; a two-way livewire. The waves of pleasure bounce back and forth. I sob as each crest brings me just a little higher, frustration rippling my muscles as they strain to reach their goal.
Eventually the saltiness of tears coats my lips; my mouth a silent moan. Her orgasm at last subsides. Small aftershocks, no longer an inferno: each pulse carrying me further from release. Fire drenches burning skin; discomfort. I am so close, so fucking close to the end. Just a simple—
Now, let’s quantify this properly. You are saying that you’ve… won?
Icy breath ruffles the hairs on my neck—the faintest of stirrings. My nipples harden into tighter peaks. A solid frame pulls flush against me.
“How did you—?”
The rest is muffled by the wood.
The impact of the forceful shove expels my breath in one long, raspy moan. Enough time for her hand to slide under my belt. Her coolness heats my skin; excites; makes me wriggle even harder. I try to force full contact with her palm.
Oh. Not until we settle this.
A playful smack, and suddenly her hand is gone.
My helpless mewl is meek. Everything within me rails at the sound.
Say please.
Her tongue swirls patterns on my flesh. The rush of contact surges blood—a throbbing quiver. My mouth tastes a memory: her beating life force right beneath my lips. I jerk: forward, back; in desperation. Her weight holds me in place without using force.
One. Word.
Which one? There are a dozen one words. All duels that I can’t concede. Love. Power. Trust. Control. Each one a guided bullet. Each one designed not to miss.
Our link dims, flickers: sorrow leaching brightness. The coolness of the air steals the warmth. Her touch—her mouth—recedes.
“No.” I am stronger.
Pushing off the pine, I spin and grab her round the waist.
The momentum carries us across the clearing, a timeless journey—or at least until the oomph of ground.
I can see… how… you got… your reputation… Even without breath, she’s never lost for words.
“Hey… don’t tell me that… you didn’t see… stars.”
The burst of laughter quickly fades to silence. One steeped in disappointment.
Libido wilts on cue.
Gives way to something else. The blood lust. But this one of another kind.
Incisors elongate too far; a curtain veils sanity. A throbbing tick begins to pound a ceaseless beat.
Take.
Hunger.
Kill.
This craving is another mistress.
One that I fucking know I’ll never tame.
She snarls, her nose twitching, “Stop. Clear your mind.”
The red bleeds over everything I see.
The crunch of bone is nectar in my mouth. Her blood bursts tartness in my throat. I fasten, sucking in abandon; imbibe her essence. Feast.
“I want you to focus on the sound of my voice.”
Her flesh is a compulsion, an obsession. A tasty morsel to devour till there’s nothing left.
A little faster.
Yes.
No, deeper.
Harder.
“Don’t let it win. This isn’t real.”
A softness glides along my cheek: a soothing balm. A whisper. Her words come jumbled through the mist. The lips brush mine: gently, patiently; a butterfly caress that slays the visions in my mind. I crush her closer, sample lucidness with every stroke; each lick and bite a reassurance that she’s alive. Well, as alive as she can be, being a vampire.
It really should be me that’s dead.
“I need.”
“I know.”
It isn’t clear who is who; there’s just a shared hunger. For me: one that will drive the darkness from my mind. For her, who knows?
You know.
The words are vibrant.
Too gloomy to decipher whether hers or mine.
With each lick, stroke and brush, I feel myself returning; her moisture drenching lips and tongue. Our tongues clash, battling for domination, before she pliantly concedes. The rush of power arrows through my veins, and almost instantly I am wet.
She bares her throat in supplication. Her teeth nip circles on my own.
“Not… yet,” I grunt out, still assaulted by imagined carnage.
Her next bite breaks the surface of my skin.
Warmth—feelings—flood across the fragile strand. So much I wait for it to break. It doesn’t. The overwhelming load only bolsters our link. She’s never tried to cloak her emotions. These are the only moments I am glad of that.
Her suckling drains the darkness from my mind. It leaves behind paralysing truth. She is the only cure to this sickness. My only hope that one day I’ll change.
Please.
It’s not spoken or acknowledged. My lips don’t even shape the words. Her throat convulses—a reflexive swallow?—before she angles it a little further to the side. The copper tang pulses beneath her skin; calls out to my lips. I pause in hesitation. A finger boldly nuzzles through my heat. A pinching of my outer lips. We both moan. And then she sinks in, buried all the way.
“Fu…” The rest is lost as she shoves down my head, my mouth touching skin. Her blood leaps in surrender. As does the last vestige of my control. There’s no finesse to how I fasten round her throat. There’s just the knowledge that the bruise will fill me with regret.
The taste of her.
The way she swallows me.
The rhythm of her finger.
In and out.
I lose myself, and she does too. There’s only one: a mass of yearning.
A roar builds. A silent scream.
I love you.
Before I am able to refute the words, there’s a crescendo. A freight train out of control. I lift my hand: a weak, instinctive flutter—
That’s when her finger thumbs my clit.
My hand slumps to the side and I am grateful she is lying underneath me. The blinding flash of need splutters her blood across the grass.
“S-sorry,” I pant, my lips regaining their place. Her muffled laugh is twice as sensual as her actions.
Until she pinches me between her fingers; squeezes; rolls.
I surge, impaling myself further; mind crystal clear. A line of energy connects my mouth to her hand. The blood pumps faster, our hips erratic in abandon. Uncaring of how they reach their goal.
In. Out. I am on the brink of the abyss now.
Teetering between this life and next.
Please.
Please.
The words flow through my mind. Because without them, I cannot—
Come.
Her deft command is just enough, and I am there. I buck and thrash; reward an incandescent light. My orgasm sends her over the edge: a mighty shudder. Her lips pull tighter on my skin. The sucking pressure brings another rush. My own lips fasten harder. Our blood flows freely back and forth. Our hands, our very essences combine—till nothing separates us.
We are one.
Another ‘quaint phenomenon’, this joining. They say a rush too powerful for speech.
Perhaps for some, that is.
Me, I am another story.
“So like I said, one-nil to me. Another game?”
Sneak Peek
HIDE AND SEEK:
A Novel
(Coming Autumn 2011)
~Chapter 1~
Gillian
The best thing about waking up in someone else’s bedroom was the anticipation that when you gingerly turned your head, careful not to jar your pounding headache, Angelina Jolie would gaze back at you with a ‘fuck me’ look.
The worst thing was her grizzly remains.
Eating on your date could be messy enough.
Eating your date was a whole new level of awkward.
As I cracked my ten tonne eyelids open that morning, I was greeted by my date’s empty, lifeless stare; the pupils millimetres from my own. Before I could summon up a shriek, the eyes pulled back to coalesce into a snout, furry ears flat enough to meld into a dirty brown head, and a glare which somehow seemed entirely human. When I tried to exhale a sigh of relief a flurry of movement trampled and smoothed my chest. The resultant settlement significantly limited my breathing ability.
Specifically, it felt like shit.
I felt like shit.
“You finished?”
The animal’s half sigh, half sneeze and turn of head appeared to be my answer.
“What kind of dog are you anyway?”
“Oh, that’s going to cost you later,” a voice cautioned me.
The creature pinned me with its narrow, beady eyes, then using me as a spring pad it launched itself onto the other side of the bed. Once certain I was watching it, it started to roll itself around, leaving behind great mucky stains on the sheets.
A sigh was followed by a quiet, “Silk, you promised.”
The dog took the reprimand as an invitation to increase its speed.
A few more vigorous rolls and patches of a greyish-white began to shine through the dirty brown.
“I could just bathe you.” This time the woman’s tone held a note of teasing.
The dog shot up. Its short, sharp hiss preceded an astonishingly rapid blur. A second later a door creaked to my left.
“I’ll need to keep that trick in mind.” My eyes felt full of grit.
“I doubt it’ll work. Not unless you are in the habit of dating animals.”
“Well—you know what they say about a tiger in the bed.” Mentally, even I winced at how corny that came out.
“Does that really work?”
It was past time to attribute an owner to the voice. Peering into the darkness which surrounded me, I made out a silhouette of a woman sitting in a chair, some sort of book lying open in her lap. A further scan yielded dark, heavy curtains, likely to block out all light, assuming it was even morning outside.
“Does what work?” It was way too early for twenty questions.
“Your lines.”
This—this was the reason that I didn’t do mornings after. Women were far too eager to unburden their shit.
“Look, I should probably get going…”
“Ah, you are one of those.”
Fantastic. “One of what exactly?”
“The ‘wham, bam, thank you, m’am’ types. You and J—it’ll be love at first sight.”
“Alright, well, thanks for the…” Last night remained a stubborn blank. “So, is Jay…?” I let the question dangle.
A threesome. Lovely. That was new.
“He doesn’t usually get up this early.”
Thank God. One was infinitely easier than two.
Throwing back the covers, I only realised that I was dressed when my socked feet slid along the polished floor. A quick look down confirmed that the only thing I was missing was my shoes. Ugh. Passed out before I could perform? No wonder she was pissed.
“Look…”
“Katie,” she helpfully filled in after an awkward silence.
“Right, ah, Katie. You got a number or something? Maybe we can hook up when—”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” She was in front of me before the last word left her mouth.
She stood a little higher than my shoulder, her stance wide but relaxed. Blonde hair teased the edges of a corset. Nice rack. And face—well—it was hard to focus past the myriad of ridged, silvery scars, the largest tracing from her ear to her mouth.
Ouch. A pity fuck. This wasn’t like me. Just as well this Jay wasn’t around.
“Jesus, what the hell happened—” Something made me stop. My mind started blaring a warning. It took a few glances from the chair and back to figure out what it was. “Wait, how did you get from there to…?” I cut myself short again before I looked more like an idiot. The hangover was messing with my mind.
I needed a shot of Jack.
“You know what, fuck it. Is there a bathroom or something I can use for a sec? Then I promise I’ll get out of your hair. And sorry about, ah…” gesturing in the direction of her face, I trailed off for the third time, not even sure what I was sorry for.
“Through that door on the right. Take your time. Then we can talk.” She stepped off to the side.
Oh fuck. Maybe the bathroom had a window.
“It doesn’t.”
“It doesn’t what?” What the hell was she talking about?
“It doesn’t have a window.”
I didn’t even pause. Lunging for the nearest object, I swiped at it with my palm, the movement launching the vase behind me. Two strides took me to the door. My fingers registered the coolness of the doorknob—
My body slammed sideways. The back of my head met solid surface. My legs gave and I slid down to my knees.
She landed inches away from me, intact vase dangling in her hand.
Oh fuck.
Hammers pounded at my skull, now both front and back. I sagged, leaning forward heavily, hoping it would be enough to make her think that I was done.
THINK.
My brain raced to recreate the mental picture of the bedroom.
Lamp.
Chair.
Statue on the mantelpiece.
The door.
The window.
“Don’t.”
Her voice was calm and cool, as if she hadn’t just thrown me about like a ragdoll.
“Who—are you?” I wheezed out, trying to buy myself some time.
“I already told you.”
“Fine. What are you?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
I stilled, letting her words wash through me. They represented both fear and hope. I hadn’t tasted the latter for the best part of twelve years. I’d almost forgotten how I wanted to belong. But that was then and now I only longed for anonymity. The past was only toothless when it stayed inside its grave.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I raised my head to meet her gaze.
I think you do.
The words were spoken, I could hear them. Yet her lips remained unmoving.
“Holy shit.”
I couldn’t help the exclamation. It had to be some kind of trick.
No trick, just simple science. Telepathy, to be precise.
“Good morning, Gillian, and welcome to the Twilight Zone.” Muttering to myself, I gingerly got up, leaning on the wall for support.
Had I starved too long? Was the hunger playing with my psyche?
Deciding to maintain the façade, I played along. “Okay then, Professor Xavier. So where’s the rest of your gang?”
Instead of affront, her face was unexpectedly wreathed by a smile. “You like X-Men?”
Oh for God’s sake. “Are we seriously having this conversation?”
“What would you prefer to talk about?”
“I’d prefer to fucking leave.”
She lost the smile. “If I let you go, will you promise not to run?”
“Absolutely.”
“Scout’s honour?”
“We weren’t all bloody girl scouts.” My snappy answer held too much discomfort. I didn’t make a habit of lying. “Anyways, what are you, six?”
“I can’t let you go till you promise.”
“Fine. There,” holding up the requisite three fingers in an age-old salute, I waited till she took a step back. “Are you satisfied?”
“For the record, I’d like to point out that I haven’t hurt nor held you here against your will.”
“Well, I’d say that’s fucking debatable.”
“You were unconscious—before. And now you are planning to leave. I can’t allow you to do that.” Her words were so matter of fact that I finally lost it.
Grabbing my iPhone out of my jeans, I furiously bashed on the touchpad until the entry flashed up on screen. Shoving it at her, I said, “Feel free to read it out loud.”
Her quick-fire glance produced an instant sniff. “I don’t need to read the dictionary definition of ‘captivity’, thank you. I am well aware of what that is.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Gillian…”
“Okay, you want to talk—let’s start with how the fuck you know my name.”
“You told me.”
“Oh.” Deflated, I searched for the next point of contention. “Well, then how the hell did I get here? I don’t remember anything.”
A hint of red flushed Katie’s fair complexion. “Uh, well…”
“Uh, well, what?”
“I—ah—may have brought you here.”
Exasperated, I clarified, “Yes, no, I get it now. You are so right. Not captivity—what was I thinking of? So what is this place? Some sort of white slave ring? Your own personal harem? Though shit, I certainly can’t fault your fucking taste.”
“You think very highly of yourself, don’t you? And the swearing: an obvious defence mechanism. If I had to make an educated guess…”
“The slave ring.” Falling to my knees, I folded my hands in prayer, “Please, Lord, if you have any sense of decency, please, please, let it be the slave ring thing.”
“That is excessively rude. And hurtful.”
“Oh, I am sorry, is it? Well, pardon me. See I am not up to date on the captivity code of conduct. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare lying around? I would so hate to worry about offending you…”
“Ah, yes, now I can see why it was you let her live.” The new voice didn’t bother to disguise the sarcasm.
Turning, I watched a man enter the bedroom. He was clothed like something out of the Edinburgh Dungeon, but the bizarre outfit didn’t detract from his beach boy surfer handsomeness. His blonde hair was carelessly tousled, an act I am sure required hours in the bathroom. He looked just barely older than me.
This had to be the infamous Jay.
“She’s clearly, oh so very grateful,” he continued. “You know, just throwing it out there, I haven’t had lunch…”
Fully taking stock of the woman’s outfit for the first time, I realised that the dress that I had simply catalogued as vintage did actually appear to be as old, and as old-fashioned, as this guy’s suit.
Okay. Props. Had to be. And the mind thing was magic. Illusion. Like on TV. Right. And maybe Katie was just super strong. Good for her. Girl power. Rock on.
Feeling the relief of sound logic, I said, “Alright. Joke’s over now, guys. Did Mark put you up to this? Jenny? Is this some trashy E4 version of Punked?”
The blonde frowned. The male continued to smirk.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a no. How about this? You let me go and we’ll forget this ever happened. I am not going to press any charges. This was just a harmless prank. Everyone got a wee bit carried away with the role-playing thing, and this morning, realising their mistake, went on their merry fucking way.”
“Can’t do that, chief.” He looked delighted to shoot me down.
“What Jenkins meant to say,” Katie glared at him, “was that we can’t let you go because it isn’t really safe.”
“Not safe? What do you mean—” Her words fully registered. “Wait… Jenkins? Are you serious? What kind of arse goes by his surname?”
His eyes lit up. I blinked. The haze of red around his pupils deepened.
“Y-you should get that fucking checked, mate. Might have a melanoma, or sarcoma, or—”
“Enough.” Katie’s voice boomed across the room. “You,” she gestured towards Jenkins, “out.” “You,” her finger wagged in my face, “sit.”
He stepped into my line of vision just long enough to signal ‘I am watching you’.
I flicked him off with my own two-fingered salute.
He barely suppressed a snort.
“Gillian,” the minute he left the room, Katie addressed me with the same, nails on a chalkboard, snootiness. “You can’t talk to him like that.”
“Another thing I obviously failed to read up on.”
“If you are going to live with us, there’s a whole host of—”
My laugh started as a rumble, deep in the belly of my stomach. “Live with you? Right, well, I am off. Does it say ‘Asylum’ on the front door? Nope, never mind. This was—well, it was fucking something. You two crazy kids have fun. Don’t swallow all the pills at once.”
I reached for the doorknob for a second time, getting as far as seeing a welcome sliver of light, before her hand slammed it shut.
“Wake. Up. Neo.” My chant was accompanied by the less than satisfying smacking of my head against the door, which only served to remind me that there was now not a single square inch of my head that didn’t ache.
“That movie is factually inaccurate.”
“Of course you’d focus on that.”
Turning round, I finally admitted defeat, trudging over to slump back down on the bed. Throwing my arm up over my eyes in a futile attempt to relieve the headache, I said, “Okay, Morpheus. Hit me.”
The corner of the bed depressed under her weight. A hand tentatively brushed my own; then started up a rhythmic stroking motion. It was incredibly disconcerting.
Though not as much as this entire clusterfuck.
“As you can probably tell already, I am not exactly human,” she began.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“But neither are you.”
Her grip tightened a fraction of a second before I tried to pull away.
“You keep repeating that like if you say it often enough, it’s somehow going to magically come true.” Maybe if I kept denying it…
“There’s no need to lie. You are safe with us. We only want to help you.”
“What are you, some sort of quack? I don’t need fucking help.”
“Well, if last night is anything to go by, you do. Twelve years have clearly taught you little control, even less of an understanding of your physiology. To attack a human in blatant sight is to run the risk of exposure for the entire race. Something I am certain you are aware of. Which leads me to conclude, even without your level of consumption last night, that you were on the edge of absolute starvation. Regular intake of sustenance is absolutely crucial to survival. That is the first thing that we teach all fledglings. If you are not in control of your body, you are not in control of anything at all.”
“Seriously, who the hell are you?”
“My name is Katie, I’ve already told you. And I am—well—I am a vampire.”
“Fuck off.”
“My leaving wouldn’t alter the facts.”
Sitting up on the bed, I stared at her. Really looked into her eyes. They only held compassion. This—even in my wildest dreams—wasn’t something that I thought I’d ever hear. “So. Let me get this right. You’re telling me that you are a vampire? A real vampire? Like on TV and shit?”
At her nod, I checked, “And him?”
“Yes, Jenkins too.”
“And you want me to believe that—what— the reason that you know all this about me is because… I am one of you?”
“No.”
The only sound in the room was the loud exhalation of my breath.
She hadn’t lied.
Somehow that made it even worse.
“We don’t know what you are. It’s why I am asking you to stay. Give me a chance to run some tests.”
“No, thanks,” tearing out of bed, I headed for the door again. “I am not some lab rat. And like you said, I am not a… vampire, so I’ll be on my way.”
“They’ll come for you.”
Her gravity made me pause.
“Who?” Turning to face her, I left one hand on the doorknob.
“Others like us. You might not be a pureblood but you are our kin. Our telepathic bond confirms that. What I need to determine is—what exactly makes up the rest.”
“Tempting… but I’ll give it a miss.”
“Does the scar still throb?”
The shudder shook my hand. “H-how…” Hearing the tell-tale clink, I clenched my teeth to stop them from chattering. At once the familiar elongated jaw rushed towards me, its mouth full of jagged spikes. For a second I could taste the rotting stench emanating from its mouth.
I staggered back. Desperately tried to blink that night away. “Y-you can’t… know that. Nobody… knows about that.”
“That night?” Her tone was gentle. “That’s where you are wrong. J and I know. And so will anyone who’s old enough or skilled enough to hack into our link.”
“Our link? Is that how—” The images overwhelmed me. The crunching sounds. The screams. The wetness—
Mrs Rose’s broken television. Timesheets. Weekly shopping for Mr Patterson. I tried to make the ordinary replace the spool of horror unwinding in my mind.
“I wish,” Katie’s voice was closer. There was no force in the hand which settled over mine.
Backing away, I didn’t stop until I hit a solid object. A wall. My palms flattened against the surface. Another wall. The memory was sharp. A brick wall. Damp and freezing. Midnight. Brown eyes. Like hers. Exactly hers. Laced with the same compassion. Then—also confusion.
“How do I know you?” I sank into a crouch, my arms hugging my knees. Instinctively, I knew she wouldn’t lie.
She sank down to my level.
Because Jenkins and I were there that night.
About the author:
Growing up in Scotland, Selene Coulter knows her football, pints, and of course, sheep. When she isn’t busy lurking in her local coffee shop, clutching her favourite toy (the laptop), she’s most likely tip-tapping in the house. Yes, you’ve guessed it, on the laptop.
A brand new author, Selene always appreciates fan feedback, and would be glad to hear your thoughts.
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