excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 195,150
46 Ratings (3.5)

For years, college student Devan Astor has penned erotic stories based on her dark fantasies, but when she's abducted, she is faced with the real terror of being at the mercy of a cruel stranger. She flees, but in the remote cabin where she takes refuge, will she encounter a danger even more frightening than the kidnapper who is still hunting her? At the end of her ordeal, will she be left scarred by the experiences that so closely match her own fantasies, or will she discover fulfillment she never imagined?

46 Ratings (3.5)


excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 195,150
46 Ratings (3.5)
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Rather slow and boring.
horrid plot
Professional Reviews

Review by Stacey at Manic Readers Reviews (4/5 STARS!)

a dark and tormented story of two souls who, thinking they are broken beyond repair, find strength in each other, and in learning about each other discover that they aren't really so broken after all. It delves the depths of the human psyche, discovering the dark and twisted demon that lurks in each of us, making us feel disgusted and unclean, whether that demon hides in the back of our consciousness, tormenting us whenever we acknowledge it.

Review from Kyraninse at Night Owl Reviews (4.5/5 - TOP PICK!)

"I really enjoyed(this) Not only is it remarkably executed but the psychological profiles of the characters are mesmerizing and their desires and needs sharply poignant Varian manages to be descriptive without being cloying, her writing almost clean in its efficiency I will look forward to Varian's works in the future"

Review from Dawnie at Fallen Angel Reviews (4/5 ANGELS!)

"From the start the raciness of the tale is heart stopping. The unusual turn of events will keep the reader guessing what will happen next. Nothing is what it seemsI couldn't put it down and the pages rolled byVarian Krylov is an intense author that I will definitely be reading more of."

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He knew she would let him do anything, have anything. Anything. It was that thoughtthat he could do what he wantedthat made him so hard, so hot, rather than any particular thing he could think of actually doing. That this strange, quiet girl would let him touch her, take her, look at her any way he liked, and yield to any thing he might do with nothing but breaths and sighs and that look of hers.

Somehow her pigtails seemed perverse. He wanted her hair loose. Quietly, calmly, like a child with a doll who will neither judge nor protest, he took one pigtail in the loose circle of his fingers and worked her wet hair free of the elastic band. Then he did the other. He put the bands around his wrist and, with both hands, combed his fingers through her wet hair until it hung heavy and wet in thick strands over her shoulders and down her back. But he missed the nape of her neck, pale and whisped with baby-fine hairs in two Vs, so he twisted her hair up in one hand and drew it up, bending her head forward, elongating the back of her delicate neck, making the pale skin go taut over the smooth rounded curves of her spine.

Christ, he hadn't even really touched her yet, and he was rock hard. What was it with this girl?

He leaned into her, let his face brush against her neck, heard her suck in her breath, felt her quiver as his chest pressed against her back. Breathing in the smell of her skin, feeling the heat of their bodies warming the wet cloth between them, seeing the tiny hairsthe soft blond down of her earshe was momentarily aware of how on, how tuned into every sensation his body was in that moment, as if he could taste and see and hear molecules of air, of rain, of her and he felt oddly happy.

It was exciting to touch, to run fingers along the bare wet gooseflesh of arms, to peel the wet, sticking sleeves back to reveal her upper arm and the first hint of her shoulder, to brush his lips against her there without kissing, to think of licking and biting her tender flesh, to feel the excitement of anticipation, the little twinge of denial.

The t-shirt she had on was soaked and clung to her like gray skin, and he took in the shape of her tits, her dark areolae, her hard nipples, the vague ripple of ribs, the slight hollow of her belly. He came to her, his body pressing her, his thigh parting hers, getting a little sigh from her as his leg pressed against her cunt. After that little noise she turned her face away and closed her eyes, and he smiled, amused by her shyness. He leaned into her, her body soft and trembling, mouthed her ear, felt her panting breath with his chest, and whispered,

"What do you want, Devan?"

One of her wrists he let go, let his hand come down into her hair to feel its heavy thickness between his fingers. Her other wrist he brought down, down, and pressed her hand to his hard, aching cock.

"Is this what you want?"

She only answered with a breathy sigh, her eyes closed, her lips parted.

Still holding her hand to his swollen cock, barely moving it over him, he mouthed her ear again, gently bit her jaw just beneath it, kissed her neck, breathing in the smell of her hair and her skin as he tasted her flesh. He heard his own excited breathing, panting against her face, her neck, her jaw, tasted his own saliva as his mouth moved back to the places it had been already, tasted the salt of her skinsalty chin, jaw, neck, cheek. Strangely so, when her ear hadn't been, or the smooth neck beneath, under the canopy of her wet hair. Not thinking, just feeling, feeling his way around her, he tasted the rain dripping from her chin, trickling down her smooth cheek, wetting her lashes.

But the rain on her lashes was all salt

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